


Grenades

by argus



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: 10000 Tons of Worrying, Angst, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Gun Violence, Hal is a BAMF, M/M, On the Run, Smut, Weapons of Mass Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argus/pseuds/argus
Summary: Originally written in 2011.  Removed from another archive for too much blood and sex.Hal and Dave are tracking a potential Metal Gear in North Dakota.  But then, nothing is what it seems and Hal has to step up to save the team.  HalxDave, SnakexOtacon and lots of violence and angst.





	1. Chapter 1

## GRENADES

  
  
  
  
  
 **January**  
  
Smoke floated out of Snake's mouth, wrapped around his nostrils, and was lost in the atmosphere above.  
The dark, hazy atmosphere happened to occupy the back booth of Ella's, a dingy little short-order dive that filled the space beneath Philanthropy's headquarters.  
At least, Philanthropy HQ du jour.  
Ella was never seen. The diner was run by a man who Snake interpreted to be her husband: a well-built, aging Midwesterner with an ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips. He jawed with the regulars and left Snake to himself in the back booth.  
Refilled his coffee cup dutifully, but stayed the hell out of his business.  
  
The bell on the front door rang brightly as a tall, curly-haired man walked into the restaurant, bringing the cold air and the snow in with him. His unsure eyes scanned the patrons through the smoke and settled on the man in the back booth. He strode confidently towards his target and Ella's husband coolly paid him no regard.  
"Snake," Otacon slid into the opposite side of the booth, "why is it whenever you 'disappear', I can always find you down here, sucking down cigarettes and coffee?" He was given a non-committal grunt in return. "You know, for a master of stealth, you have quite conspicuous patterns." Otacon smirked triumphantly. Snake took a long drag and blew the smoke as angry steam from his nostrils.  
"Did you come down here to badger me and get your daily dose of secondhand smoke, or was there something you actually needed?" Otacon pushed his glasses up on his nose, managing to smooth his face into a mask of nonchalance. The annoyance leaked out of his voice instead.  
"Yes,  _actually_ , there is something I need. I don't think it's prudent to discuss it here, so I'll kindly ask you to finish your cigarette and follow me." Otacon knew that Snake knew exactly where he was going so he didn't provide him with a leisurely minute or two to finish. He simply left, garnering the stares of some of the less savvy clientele.  
Snake, in response, calmly finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the bottom of his dry mug, tossed a few bills on the table, and slunk out.  
Ella's husband carefully kept his eyes elsewhere, on the coffee pots, on the other patrons, on the muted television. He could tell that something tense and dangerous clung to those men: the way they strode, the way they spoke. He wasn't about to muddy his hands in it.  
  
"Is now a  _prudent_  time?" Snake slammed the apartment door behind him, nicotine doing nothing to calm his nerves.  
It was the middle of a miserable North Dakota winter and both he and Hal were at each other's throats constantly. The cabin fever and disappointment had built to an unbearable level.  
"...Of course it is, Snake." Hal sighed, his tone subdued, all business. He cut straight to the point. "I found some intel on the decommissioned missile silos in the area which indicates they are not precisely decommissioned."  
Snake collapsed on the sofa, springs creaking under his weight.  
"I've got a bad feeling about this... First off, let's not jump to conclusions and  _two_ , where did you get the info from?" His skeptical eyes pinned Hal to the wall. It had been three months since a chance photo in an AP story about Bismarck, ND captured a blurry semi trailer in the background. A semi trailer with a mysterious and strangely indicative bipedal-tank-equipped-with-nuclear-rail-gun shape tarped on the back of its flatbed.  
  
It was all chance, it was all pure coincidence... And then nothing. For three whole months.  
Three months spent in the back booth at Ella's sucking down cigarettes and coffee.  
Three months for Otacon, spent hunched over his computer, scanning articles and files for another lead, another connection.  _Anything._  
  
"Okay, number  _one_ , I'm not jumping to conclusions. The Dept of the Interior  _has_  been conducting an infrared scanning project from orbital satellites to show the effects of urban sprawl.  
What those photos are showing are present, not  _high_  but  _present_ , levels of heat from one particular abandoned missile silo. I'm not concluding what  _specifically_  is causing that heat signature, I'm merely saying something is happening there. Those silos are nearly the best insulated structures in existence. If there's heat leaking through, there's something big happening." Snake's eyebrows raised in interest and his mouth opened slightly in apology. Hal abruptly cut him off.  
" _Two_ : the intel or rather the friendly nudge in the right direction came from an unknown source. Before you say it's too undependable, I  _know_ , trust me..." Hal shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Someone who claims to be a DOI employee posted a file server address on a branch of the old 2600 BBS where conspiracy theorists gather." Snake gave him a silent, suspicious glare. "Before you draw any conclusions, let me just say that the file server is real. I hacked it this morning, and the photos are genuine." He shrugged off that morning's accomplishment with nonchalance. Fried up some eggs, hacked into a government server, did the dishes... Small feat for a WMD engineer turned global vigilante.  
  
He turned back to the computer and his nimble fingers called up an array of false-color photos of the barren Dakota plains. He swiftly overlaid them with a latitude/longitude grid and another of a road map. The whole puzzle blossomed before Snake's eyes. The old Cold War ICBM silos were laid out, 10 in a Flight, across the high plains of the US. Several dozen were grouped in North Dakota, where the United States government of yore presumed few would care about nuclear collateral damage.  
At the end of the Cold War, and with peaceful disarmament the buzzword of the 90s, the missiles were removed, disassembled, and the silos flooded with water.  
The whole infrared map was a sea of black interspersed with tiny points of red and orange intersecting with highways, towns, ranches. Except for one dot, a bright red glow in the middle of nowhere. An unmapped singularity.  
Otacon found and snapped the last map over the array of photos: the missile Flight group map. The red point of light aligned perfectly with the position of the silo marked N38.  
Snake's eyes narrowed. Even if this was sent by some anonymous joker, the files were real, and the map was real.  
Something was really going on at location N38.  
The next task was to find out what.  
  
The following day dawned bright, crisp, clean, and 20 below. It was the warmest day out of the whole week.  
Hal had spent most of yesterday and last night hunched in front of his computer, ruining his posture, atrophying his muscles, typing away furiously to gather as much information about the silos as he could. He heard Sleepy Snake shuffle behind him, out of his bedroom, not quite ready to greet the day. Tact eroded from lack of sleep, he called out just as Snake was propping an unlit cigarette between his teeth.  
"Snake, you'll never guess what I found." Silence while the solider clicked his lighter repeatedly. Click. Click. "I spent all night working on this, and finally my efforts bear fruit! Seriously, just take a guess." Click. Click. " _Please_ , just take a guess?" A slow growl erupted in Snake's throat, his lighter officially dead. Hal sighed tiredly, the long hours finally showing in his voice. "Why do you always have to be so obstinate, Snake? Why can't you just humor me?"  
"Why do  _you_  always have to be so irritating? I'm not even  _fucking awake_." He marched into the kitchen, and the sound of the gas stove lighting soon followed. Tense silence settled in the air, followed by the soft sigh of smoke through dry lips.  
Snake returned to the living room, cigarette effluence rising carelessly into the air. Hal frowned and plowed forward.  
"I found the facility map and specs for the OEM sensor kit which DOD installed on each silo. I've got everything: circuit diagram, room placement, lock configuration... You name it." More smoke and silence filled the stagnant air. Hal frowned in frustration and threw his voice into falsetto. "Gosh, Otacon, that's wonderful news. This information will make my hellish job so much easier! Oh, no problem, Snake, that's what partners are for. It's not like I needed sleep last night or lung cancer this morning."  
Snake pulled the cigarette from his mouth and leveled Hal with a burning stare.  
"If you're done being sarcastic, do you think we can start being civil to one another?"  
"If you're done with that cigarette."  
  
Snake pinched the bridge of his nose, holding back whatever foul words were hovering on his lips. He  _needed_  this one so he could start dealing with the day, he really did. It was too cold and too windy to have a chance at smoking outside. He took one more long drag and dramatically blew the smoke over his shoulder, away from Hal. He cocked his eyebrow dangerously as the butt was stubbed out in a wayward dirty coffee mug.  
"Better?"  
"Much. We can go over the security specs briefly, I-" Hal turned back to the computer, sighing. "I-I'm sorry for jumping you with it this early in the morning..." Snake perched behind him on the coffee table.  
"S'okay. Sorry for smoking inside..." Hal glanced over his shoulder, a contented smirk on his face. "You're forgiven, for now." They shared a brief smile and suddenly the tension was gone, the violence dissipated from the air. Why, lately, did frustration and boredom cause so many petty squabbles? At least these bouts blossomed and died quickly, the mood settling like smoke in the air. But would it always?  
  
"So, these sensors - they're 1960s 'state of the art' Active Microwave. They shouldn't present much of a problem. The DOD installed them on poles, 5 feet in the air. I guess they weren't expecting a terrestrial assault... But..." Here, Hal hesitated, pushing his glasses back to their proper position. "We can be pretty much guaranteed that whoever is now operating at N38 has installed their own security system, with much better technology, and better camouflaged. We've just got a tiny advantage knowing the basic setup." His fingers ran lightly over the LCD monitor. "But I think we can draw on past experience to gauge the capabilities of the current security." The engineer and the soldier locked eyes. "Visual monitoring, that's a given. I think we can put down passive infrared as well." Snake counted off the different types on his fingers.  
  
"They probably have a magnetic sensor field closer in, and ultrasonic tremor sensors on the blast doors, vent, and entry hatch." His lips quirked upwards in a smile. "Nothing we haven't handled before." Hal grabbed a sharpie and started scribbling furiously on a nearby notepad. "Magnetic's easy, you'll go in with only a carbon fiber KA-BAR and procure firearms on site. Ultrasonic... I'll whip up a directional shielded EMP and once you get close, you can knock out the sensors on the air vent door." It was Snake's turn to smile, strangely entranced with the dancing light in Hal's eyes, creating schematics on the fly.  
  
"I can handle visual monitoring without an issue. You know me."  
"So presumably, there will only be infrared and microwave left." He bit the end of his sharpie in thought. An idea was slowly occurring to both men, but they were rifling through their brains for another option, another way. Snake caught Hal's eyes and unspoken words said they had hit on the same idea. One way to defeat both systems at the same time. "Spring. We've got to wait until... Don't we? I mean..." The ensuing pause enveloped the room. "Snake, there's got to be a better way!" Hal rubbed his temples in frustration. "That will mean weeks,  _months_ , of waiting!"  
"I know, Otacon, but I don't think there's a better, more subtle method. The melted water from the snow will drive the microwave sensors nuts. We'll have to modify the suit to deal with infrared, but if the air temperature is warmer, it will be less of an obstacle. After all, there won't be any walls for me to hide behind in order to take out thermal sensors in the old fashioned way." The answering silence said it all. For these reasons and more, there wasn't a better option.  
  
Spring would eventually come to the frozen Dakota plains. The barren landscape outside didn't seem capable of warmth, and yet, the seasons would change as they had for eons. In spring, they would be able to topple the perimeter security and destroy this newest Metal Gear - should it exist - in the dark abyss of N38. The only problem was the wait.  
It would be weeks before the wind subsided and longer still before the sun claimed back the land and melted the snow into large, shimmering puddles.  
Too long.  
The bipedal weapon could be operational by that time, could be gone, and they would have lost their best chance to neutralize it for all their delay.  
  
The days ate away into weeks. Hal had converted the kitchen table into a metallurgy lab, the sneaking suit cut apart and lying under a half dozen lights like an alien autopsy. There were tools, large and small, scattered everywhere. Carefully shielded copper wires were being laced through the suit like spiderwebs. This network of wires was the backbone of his infrared shroud. The copper would lie against Snake's skin and draw body heat away into minutely feathered heat exchangers mounted on his Nomex knee pads. Otacon took advantage of the fact that his knees would spend much of their time against the ground, simultaneously acting as a conduit for the waste heat and cloaking the signature of the exchange.  
Snake, on the other hand, spent his days alternating between occupying the back booth at Ella's, doing infinite pull-ups on the bar he'd drilled into the bathroom door frame, and peering over Otacon's shoulder at the suit and the engineer's deft hands.  
"Snake?! Ah, jeez, would you find  _something else_  to do?" Snake mumbled a 'sorry' as Otacon gently blew the fallen cigarette ash off the suit. He was going crazy waiting but knew that Otacon was even more on edge than himself. It was a race against time, boredom, and anxiety.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 **March**  
  
The air temperature yesterday had risen to 45 degrees and the snow was slowly melting away. Soon, very soon, and they would have to move.  
  
It was Tuesday morning and Snake was propped up on the couch watching the Action 4 Wake Up newscast. It was always pleasantly boring news in North Dakota, but over the past few weeks there had been several reports of missing persons. Did the snow and the cold finally get to people, drive them crazy, and they just walked off to more temperate climes? Or did the slowly warming weather bring the maniacs out of hibernation? Perhaps the dozen or so missing people had been abducted and murdered, not merely run away? What drove a thin section of humanity to do such things to others? He ground his teeth together as another picture popped up on the screen. She was a school teacher, mid 40s, short brown hair, glowing smile. Snake hoped she'd just decided she'd had enough of winter and teaching bratty kids, but knew it couldn't be true. Why were they chasing shadows and men with phantom WMDs, when there were real people dying in daily life for easily preventable reasons? He knew Philanthropy's work was terrifyingly important, and yet the powerless feeling that invaded his lungs grew and would not budge.  
  
His ears twitched as he caught the sound of Otacon's chair scraping on the kitchen linoleum. He knew the engineer had finished the suit without a word spoken. There was a certain unmistakable relief permeating the air. The time line had been penciled out and Thursday was the unofficial execution date. The picture of the missing school teacher disappeared and was replaced by the weather. Murder and weather, how American. The buxom weather girl who filled the screen predicted a jump from an average of 30 to a balmy 55 degrees and NOAA's radar seemed to confirm it. There was a high pressure front moving up through the central plains from the west coast. When it hit them, it would be Wednesday afternoon and the snow would melt like butter. On Thursday morning, the first day of April, the high would still be overhead and they would have their best chance to break through all N38's defenses at once.  
  
If not, this would be the worst April Fool's joke in history.  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Thursday 3:55 AM**  
  
Officially, it was 5 months and 3 days since their last operation. And the previous mission was only a simple recon to photograph personnel files that were too old and obscure to have been scanned into a permeable database. Child's play. Snake's hands were trembling as he donned the suit. It was from excitement - yes, that's what it was. Thoughts were running through his head at light speed. Are we ready? Have we thought through all possibilities? Is the equipment working? Have I been out of practice too long? Have I kept myself in peak condition? Is that a tremor in my heartbeat, or just... the excitement?  
  
Hal knew full well that it was fear racing through his own veins. He held no pretenses of pride and knew he couldn't trick himself into believing everything was fine. It was still pitch black when they loaded their arsenal into the abused, fourth-hand Subaru. The engine turned over and they wordlessly pulled onto the road.  
  
Miles passed in silence. Snake rolled down his window and lit up. The cool air was soothing and the nicotine did much to bring his heartbeat back to normal levels. A Metal Gear. Could it be possible? They would find out soon. The GPS suctioned to the windshield beeped softly and sprang to life. They had arrived at the entry and hopefully extraction point, 2 miles away from N38. Hal pulled the car onto a mounded dirt road that served as access to an adjoining field, still fallow and abandoned in the early spring. No one would be coming out here. No one would suspect a beaten up car, pulled halfway into the field. There wasn't another soul in sight and the blackness of the pre-dawn sky spread all around them. As he killed the engine, Snake took one last long drag and flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window. Final checks.  
"Snake, do you copy?" Hal's voice rang in echo through the silent air and through the bones in his ears.  
"Copy." Codec functioning. His fingers ran over the knife at the small of his back, the tiny but powerful EMP at his side. He took a deep breath, opened the door and disappeared into the blackness.  
  
Hal was left all alone in the car and he swiftly began to set up his two laptops and satellite antenna, keeping busy to stop the worry from consuming him. He prayed to whomever was listening that his intel was right. Or maybe he should be praying that it was wrong? He was torn up inside, half of him hoping there was a Metal Gear and that Snake could masterfully destroy it. The other half of him was hoping it would be nothing but an empty, cavernous silo. But then... what if if was empty? Did that mean they were being set up? Did that mean that somehow, someone knew they were there? Maybe someone and their numberless mass of hired goons were back at the apartment now, ransacking the encrypted hard drives and their paltry belongings waiting in ambush for the two men to return. Maybe- Hal forced himself to take a gigantic breath through his mouth, pushing it slowly out his nostrils. No, he was just being paranoid.  
But then... If there was a Metal Gear here, the numberless hired goons would be too and Snake... No, no, this is what Snake did best, what he was made and trained for. What he  _lived_  for. Hal pushed his glasses back up his nose, more out of habit than necessity. The laptops finished booting. The homemade antenna finished its lazy arc and locked onto a stray unsuspecting communications satellite. Time to go to work.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 **5:08 AM**  
  
The tall perimeter fence loomed in front of Snake's eyes. He had been so, so careful crossing those scant two miles, watching and inching forward, waiting for some trap to spring around him. Caution was never a bad thing.  
The very edges of the sky had turned a dusky gray color but the sun was still far beneath the horizon. As promised, the ground around him was wet with dew and puddles of snowmelt. The water must have been doing its job at scrambling the scenery and Snake with it into an utter gibberish of reflected microwaves because the complex was still deathly silent. There was no motion and Snake too lay prone and still, not hardly daring to breathe. In front of him stood the fence with the promised poles and sensors on each corner. Inside that were two squat structures he expected were the air hatches and between them lay a massive flat concrete ramp with a small but discernible break through the bottom center. Hatch doors.  
On the periphery of his vision, on the pole to his left, he saw a small blinking red light. Son of a bitch. There  _was_  something here. There was  _something_... An ironic calm followed by adrenaline filled his arteries with purpose. Yes, there was something here. Something that required electricity. Something that could be infiltrated.  
Something he could  _destroy_.  
  
Snake's pupils focused on the fence, no more than 10 yards in front of him. He crept forward using only his toes and his fingertips to propel his body until his nose nearly touched the razor and chain-link structure. Sloth-like, he reached to the sheath at his back and pulled out the one weapon he could afford to bring. The non-metallic Grivory knife had two edges, one smooth and one serrated. At the hilt was a set of ceramic pincers which he used to slowly and soundlessly cut through the bottom of the fence. His movements were calculated and tediously slow. It felt as if the sun was moving faster in its task than he was, as if the lazy clouds above were jet aircraft leaving him in the wake of their velocity. Sweat beaded on his forehead in the chill air. At long last, his effort was rewarded and a Snake-sized panel of wire opened. He replaced the blade and slithered through.  
  
Toes and fingertips. The air vent was his next checkpoint. His breathing was shallow and efficiently timed. His whole being was focused, on edge, tight and wound like a spring to react at the smallest sign of movement. However, the facility continued to slumber. As soon as he was close enough to the vent that its form eclipsed the looming ramp hatch structure, he rose to his haunches, saturated ground squishing softly under his feet. Sure he was now out of sight of whatever cameras there were, Snake moved swiftly, covering the remaining distance and flattening himself against the reinforced concrete structure. He took the liberty to inhale sharply through his nostrils, feeding fuel to his greedy synapses. Buckled to his side was a small rectangular box. His hands worked quickly to open the protective cover, revealing Hal's deadly creation. A smirk quirked his lips as he peeled the protective film away from the back to reveal sticky adhesive. He positioned it inside the vent, as far in as his thick arm would allow, securing it firmly. Hal was always predictably careful to make his creations easy to use, but this really took the cake. Snake's finger pressed the red button labeled PUSH, withdrew his hand, and crouched next to the concrete, shielding the codec in his skull and the nanomachines in his blood. He started counting to 10: 1, 2, 3, 4- The device emitted a small but audible zap, mission accomplished.  
  
Now that he was safe from whatever possible sensors lined the air shaft, he reached again for the knife, preparing to tear the mesh grid that covered two thirds of the opening to pieces. But the small hairs on the back of his neck would not let him begin. They stood straight on end, quivering. The sound of soft muddy squishes invaded his ears and constricted his pupils. Footsteps.  
He flattened himself against the cement again, knife out, gripped tightly. Snake stared straight ahead, there was no cover here. He could only rely on his peripheral vision and his quick reflexes to tell him from which way his assailants approached. Squish. Left? Squish. Right?  
  
A faint movement, no more than a few photons of betraying light breached his vision. Left. Two. He crouched, slipping deftly to the right, to get around the corner of the vent, to maintain his slim element of surprise. They were masked, with dark goggles, OD flak jackets and fatigues. They gripped a pair of M4s with keen intent. Military? No, there was no insignia present. But they certainly weren't amateurs. Their boots were laced with precision, sidearms glossy and well maintained, electronics at their ears and eyes feeding them environment data. But not Snake. They hadn't spotted him yet.  
  
They drew closer, closer to the corner and instinct and experience blurred together into one clear attack. He slid from his hiding place like water, executing a roundhouse to the face of the taller one while his torso spun around and the smooth edge of his blade sliced cleanly through the trachea of the other. Before he could hit the ground, Snake was upon the first, wrapping his hands around his face and twisting, snapping, so that the tendons and nerves burst in sickening splendor. He knelt by the shorter one, just barely alive, mouth gaping open with breaths that would never come. Blood spattered out with each throb of his doomed heart, and Snake was careful to avoid the stain as he sunk his blade into the unwounded side of his throat, bestowing him a short and merciful death. He wiped the knife clean on the jacket of the now still body, reaching with his other hand to remove the electronics from his face. He peered at it, trying to decipher whose trained soldiers were stationed at this supposedly abandoned facility. Could it really be the Patriots? But his musings were utterly pointless. He'd leave the forensics to Otacon, later. The more pressing issue was how he could have set off any sort of alarm during his approach. He'd been so certain of his path and his slow movements. He and Hal had been so careful in their preparations, they'd thought of everything. Right? But it wasn't a routine patrol,  _that_  he was sure of. The safeties on each of their assault rifles were clearly off. A patrol wouldn't be walking around with live weapons, fingers itching for a target. What alarm had he triggered?  
  
Despite nagging thoughts, Snake was fairly certain that his position hadn't been relayed. He didn't want to take any further chances, so he dragged the bodies to the far side of the air vent and began sawing with determination at the metal mesh that barred his entry. He cut away three sides and bent the panel down, peering into the blackness below. There was no bottom visible in the soft gray light. He flexed the muscles in his shoulders, sheathed the knife, and unclipped the rope spool at his waist. He tied one end of the braided wire to the concrete pillar and gripped the other in his hand, wiggling inside. The rope would give away his position when the bodies were found but with any luck he would be in, done, and back out well before that ever happened. It was worth the gamble, especially depending on how far down this shaft the first entry point lay. He slowly let the rope slide through his gloved fingers, his feet walking down the walls, the light disappearing overhead. 30 minutes, and the sun would breach the horizon. 10 minutes, and they would get suspicious that the two men whose bodies were cooling on the ground hadn't returned. 10 minutes. The seconds ticked off audibly in his head. He prayed to god that he would be back out by then, that the codec was still working, and that Hal would be ready to drive like hell.  
  
The opening was now just a dim point of light above him. Was he 50 feet down? 70? He knew the silos were about 150 feet deep, so sooner or later he should reach an opening into the ventilation system. Unless this wasn't really an air vent, but an exhaust tunnel? The thought was chilling even though Snake knew that there couldn't possibly be a missile still housed here. His heels finally brushed the lip of another mesh grid. Bingo. He braced himself against the sides of the shaft and used one hand to loop the rope around the harness on his suit, tying it with certain precision. Now that both his hands were free, he took a cursory glance through the screen. It offered a dim fluorescent glow that illuminated the metal sides of the air system, but little else. He silently sawed the screen and crawled through. Snake had to release the rope before he could pull his legs into the perpendicular shaft. He secured the line to the bent mesh, preserving his only escape route.  
  
Snake began to crawl through the vent towards the dim source of light. There were no sounds around him save his own shallow breathing and the whisper slide of sneaking suit on galvanized aluminum. The fluorescent light grew stronger and outlined an angled ceiling cover. He peered through it into a fairly standard government room, walls painted bland beige, desk and chair painfully utilitarian. The room was blessedly empty and he slid the vent open, dropping soundlessly onto the desk below, and shut the vent in his wake. He stepped down to the floor and his eyes quickly discovered several computers, a cabinet, and an abandoned cell phone. Which presently began to ring. Snake dove for the cabinet without thought, pulling himself inside and sealing it shut just as the door cracked open. He was starved for sight, but picked up each crisp word.  
  
"Bennet. ... Yes. ... Yes, I'm painfully aware of that. ... Are you  _fucking_  kidding me? ... Goddamn it, he could be anywhere by now." So much for his 10 minutes. "Well, maybe we can turn your incompetence to our advantage, maybe we can finally move to phase 3. ... That's not  _my_  job, that's yours. ... Just  _fucking_  find him or I swear to god, I'll use you instead!" Snake gleaned four things from that conversation. One, the bodies were found. Two, if they checked on them that quickly, these people really meant business. Three, this man Bennet was either the leader or someone of stature. Even the tone of his voice exuded power and unmistakeable derision. Four, there was severe trouble of some type in store for him if he was found. Oh, and don't forget his escape route was now irreparably compromised. He moved his fingers to the hilt of his knife, tensing his muscles to dive out and capture this Bennet, but his ears picked up the sound of another set of footsteps. "Tosoh, come with me, we need to secure the lab." A deep grunt of affirmation. The two men exited the room, door slamming roughly behind them.  
  
Holy shit. He needed to move fast. If this was a Metal Gear, they were going to lock it down so he couldn't get at it to disable it. If it wasn't, he needed to find out what type of hornet's nest he'd walked into and then get the hell out with all deliberate speed. He cracked the door of the cabinet open, not really expecting anyone to be in the room, but not willing to make a rookie mistake. There was no one there, so he pressed his ear to the door, listening for footfalls in the hallway. Clip clip clip clip. What sounded like a pair of shiny army boots walked away from his room, turning down a mystery corridor. He cracked the door to the room open, peering into the nondescript beige hallway. No one to the left. The polished cement floor glistened and gave him a perfect reflected view of his blind right side. No one there either. He took a deep breath, knife in hand, and stepped out into the hallway.  
  
Hal, meanwhile, was nearly wringing his fingers out of their sockets with worry. It was 6:19 and 32 seconds which mean that in precisely 16 minutes and 28 seconds, the sun would crest over the horizon. 27 seconds. 26 seconds.   
  
The last glimpse he'd had of Snake was through the orbiting eye of his hijacked geostationary satellite. He saw the crouched figure on the ground dispatch the two men on patrol with frightening speed. Then he was gone, slipped into the complex and disappeared. The screen in front of him had been as empty as the dim, pre-dawn landscape surrounding him. He tore his eyes from the clock on his laptop and pinched the bridge of his nose roughly. At every crackle of static over the com, his fingers involuntarily reached for the keys in the ignition. Every 15 seconds, his eyes would pop up to stare out of the windshield, scanning fruitlessly for crouched figures, friend or foe. Hal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, he couldn't keep thinking like this or he'd give himself a heart attack if Snake really did show up. WHEN he showed up. Not IF, WHEN. Stupid brain.  
  
He tried to think logically. It was only about twenty minutes since he'd last seen him on-screen. Snake was inside right now. But if it was just an empty shell, as he was secretly hoping, he would have contacted him on the codec. The line lay dead and empty save the phantom random crackles that were slowly driving him mad. Had he been right? Was there something nefarious growing inside that silo? Was someone building a Metal Gear out here in the the middle of godforsaken nowhere?  
  
A terrible thought occurred to him and raced through his limbs, making him tremble, making his eyes close for the merest of moments. What if...? What if something had happened? They were going to maintain radio silence until Snake had neutralized the situation or... or Snake needed his help enough to betray his presence. If he was silent  _still_ , that could only mean one of two things. Either Snake was hard at work and things were progressing well enough or... Or he'd  _been_  silenced.  
  
If- if that happened, how long would Hal wait? How long would he sit here, worrying? The sun would rise, doubtless. It may even be mid-morning. Noon? Sunset? Would he wait all the next night as well? A sharp pain stabbed through his heart. God, he would. He would wait for days, until... Maybe until his own weak body gave out? Would he just sit here and die, waiting for him to return? He shuddered. What kind of thinking was that? Was he trying to worry himself gray?  
  
But... But it was true. Hal had never thought about it before, but he knew without a second thought that if he really had to, he would wait for Snake to return until his heart stopped. Until his body rotted. He chastised himself for being so melodramatic, but... Hal tried to think about the plausible outcomes. If he left, at whatever point, he would never be able to forgive himself. Would never be able to stifle the 'what ifs'. They depended so completely on one another that it was anathema to think that without contact from Snake he would eventually just leave. There was absolutely no way. He would sit here, stoic, ready at a moment's notice, until Snake came back. Oh, and he had been so miserable to him lately... Working without relief on the suit and on the EMP, he'd snapped at him more times than Hal wanted to count. God, why couldn't he shrug the stress aside and just be  _pleasant_  to him? Was that so much to ask? They were supposed to be partners, but when it really came down to it, Hal under pressure could be a miserable SOB.  
  
He didn't really believe in god, but he said a silent prayer to the skies, promising to buy Snake a carton of cigarettes and silently endure the smoke from all 200 if it just meant he'd return, whole.  
  
12 minutes, 40 seconds.  
39, 38...  
  
  
***  
  
  
 **6:23 AM**  
  
Snake had made it past the third and second inner blast doors. Now there was only the first in front of him and one very angry solider, a grimace on his face that could turn a gorgon to stone. The veins in his forehead throbbed from surprise and rage, and his unholstered weapon rose on a steady and deadly path to Snake's chest. He ducked, rolling, flipping his legs around to capture the other's, dropping him onto his back with a thick thud. A silenced M9 he'd procured from the guard two hallways down kissed the prone man's temple. The projectile found the tender spot on his skull and ricocheted in myriad directions inside his face, turning all the soft tissue to consistent mush with barely a sound. He dragged the now harmless body against the wall so the door was unhindered. This was it. The Metal Gear would lay behind this door. His hand gripped the screw latch and spun it quickly. The echo of the hinges scattered against the walls and through the putrid air that occupied the vast space. Snake opened the door violently, deliberately to catch the occupants off guard. Success. There were four men inside, faces painted with shock.  
  
"Well, I believe congratulations are in order?" A blonde, dressed in a smart but plain navy suit, regarded him coolly, quickly replacing the surprise with condescension. Bennet. Next to him was a tall, broad, well muscled man, probably of Pacific Islander ethnicity. Tosoh? Two others, Caucasian, less intimidating physically but not to be underestimated, carried M4s slung across their shoulders. Their arms trembled in anticipation as Snake glared at them down the barrel of his gun, almost daring them to move the rifles to their hands.  
"And you are?" It didn't need to be said, but he desperately needed to find out something more than their names. Who were they working for, what were their aims? It had to be done before bloody gun violence ensued. Kill them all and let God sort them out? Not such a good idea if you needed leads to find your next infiltration site. He was several unbridgeable deviations more intelligent than Rambo. But that foul stink in the air was getting to him. Where was it coming from?!  
"I believe that's my line." The blonde's smirk turned into a scowl and Tosoh crossed his arms over his chest threateningly. "Who the hell are you?" Snake would not be out-maneuvered. He forced a cold laugh through his lips.  
"That is absolutely none of your concern. Right now, I'm the one with the gun. You will answer my questions or I won't hesitate to dispose of you. It's simple, you're either useful or you're not." His eyes burned into Bennet's pupils as he watched the other three men obliquely for any sign of movement. His ears twitched, trying to pickup the sound of anyone advancing from behind. Nothing. For now. "What are you working on and who are you working for?  _Quick_  answers, I get bored and trigger-happy easily." The gun did not waver in his hands.  
  
Bennet's piercing laugh ran through the gigantic hollow space.  
"Who am I  _working_  for? I have no master, yet I work for everyone. What am I working on? You could say I'm a philanthropist, I'm working on the Greater Good." Snake could tell those last words were capitalized in Bennet's mind. Deluded psychopath? Government covert ops? Brainwashed Patriot pawn? He was starting to lean towards the first versus the third and definitely away from the second. If this was an arm of the Patriots, they wouldn't need to ask who Snake was. Government was already ruled out. These guys did not have the look of government agents, and certainly not the aura.  
Not to mention the overwhelming absence of  _anything_  in the great empty space above. There was no missile, no Metal Gear. Behind the four increasingly petulant men, was a machine or a computer roughly the size of a minivan, attached with great power cables to a generator that matched the bulk of a semi truck. Psychopath.  
  
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me how  _that_  pile of junk will affect the Greater Good?" He saw a worrisome and victorious glint in the man's eyes.  
"You don't know, do you? You  _really_  don't know. That is just lovely. We have a nameless mercenary attacking our humble abode and he doesn't even know why he's here." His arms were outstretched and he turned in a circle languorously, imploring invisible spectators to gawk at the hapless soldier. "Who sent you, really? Who would care so little for your life or your impressively obvious skills that they wouldn't tell you why?" He closed his eyes carelessly and laughed demonically, betting that Snake wouldn't take that chance to blow his brains out. "I'll tell you why, but not because I'm bragging. No, I'll tell you so that you have the chance to know and appreciate your role before..." His twisted smirk reappeared. "Well, before this all plays out." He clasped his hands behind his back, unmindful of the deadly weapon trained on his cerebrum, or the index finger waiting for an excuse to act. "I suppose the  _whys_  shouldn't concern you, only the  _hows_ , so I'll be brief. I plan to wipe this planet clean of all the defiling bipedal primates who do nothing but kill themselves, each other, and the world around them. Humans are a disgusting and vile species, and this 'pile of junk' will give the world a clean slate to start from." He caressed the machine lovingly. "This brilliant little creation has found the precise wavelength that your brain operates on, whether it's engaged in sleep, or watching  _television_ ," he scoffed, "or bludgeoning your neighbor to death. All humankind vibrates on the same frequency. We take that frequency, and play it back, in discordance." He clapped his hands for effect. "Splat. Little pieces of Jane and Johnny's brains all over the place."  
  
Snake's face tightened. He suddenly knew with exact precision what that smell was. Forget psychopath, this piece of work thought he was God. And God did not lose to one lightly armed man, regardless of his combat skill. As if they were communicating telepathically, Tosoh took some unspoken cue to launch forward, reaching for Snake's gun. The angle of the M9's barrel changed to intercept the large man's path and he fired three quick rounds into his chest, staining his shirt brilliant red. But the force of the 9mm rounds were not enough to stop his trajectory, moving with the fearsome momentum of his large body, driven by fervor. Snake dove out of the way as the man's outstretched arms reached fruitlessly and fell to the ground, coughing up a mixture of blood and powdered bone. The two nameless men did not miss their chance, swinging rifles to their hands with clear determination, clicking off the safeties, and opening fire. Snake had the chance to dodge the first two of the three-round bursts. One was a wild shot, one he was just lucky. By the time their fingers returned to squeeze off another set, he was already diving behind the generator. Bennet's screams pierced the air.  
  
"You fucking fools, stop shooting!" One more rapid chorus of bullets split the air and embedded themselves into the metal monstrosity. "Goddamn it!" He couldn't see what was happening, but the sounds of a gun being wrenched out of incompetent hands followed. "Where the hell did you learn to shoot? He wasn't but 8 feet in front of you. Fucking imbecile!" Shots rang out and a body thudded to the floor. Just two left now. As soon as the thought had passed through his mind, it was trampled by another. Snake came to the sharp realization that the putrid smell was emanating from behind the generator. ...Where he was currently crouched.  
  
Terrifyingly decapitated bodies littered the cement floor in front of him. Lower jaws clung to the necks of their owners but everything above was evaporated. Dried blood and molding brain matter spattered on the floors and walls without discrimination. The pale flesh of a dozen unfortunate souls was cast about as if garbage. Snake gritted his teeth. Was this part of the 'Phase 3' Bennet was talking about earlier? Once they caught him, did they intend to use him as a test subject? Rage condensed in his mind. The missing people. This was proof they had not fled south to sip Mojitos on the sunny Gulf coast, they had been abducted by this maniac to test his unholy machine. Rage clouded his vision. The school teacher was here, somewhere, just another part of the gore. If the machine that Bennet spoke of hadn't been created, if it was just a figment of his demented dreams, Snake could have escaped this place and not worried about the blonde or his deluded goons. But now... Now he had proof that what they created was real and his full intention to use it was painted on the walls. This was no better than a Metal Gear, albeit less mobile. Perhaps this group was not as well funded as the US and Russian governments, and certainly not the Patriots, but the intention was the same. Power. Death. He would bring that superior bastard to his knees and incinerate this hell hole. For the victims lying undignified on the concrete, and for their future victims. His ears picked up the slight shuffle of feet approaching from his left. He wafted silently, on air, to the right and past the brutalized bodies, around the corner of the generator, so that he would be behind them.  
"Surprise, asshole." The quiet whisper slid into his ears a tenth of a second before gunfire followed and blistering pain erupted in his arm. His grip on the handgun faltered for a second before he ducked, twisting, back behind the generator. How had he missed that? He was so in tune with the approaching figure from the left that he'd forgotten about Bennet on the right. It was a dear and frivolous mistake.  
  
The figure on the left came into view and usurped Bennet's importance in this desperate game of survival. His clasped hands moved fluidly to aim at the man's head and two rounds exited the silencer with deadly accuracy. New blood joined dried on the wall behind and the man crumpled to the concrete. A short, smothered footstep from behind drifted to Snake's ears just before the butt of Bennet's gun cracked across his temple. He intended to take him alive, that was apparent. But it was just another of Bennet's mistakes.  
"Fuck." Snake's vision spilled into blackness, followed by a unmerciful wave of pain. Despite it, he was steady on his feet, whirling and smashing his pistol into the blonde's temple with reflex precision. The world quickly reformed around him. Bennet's undulating body fell against the generator but Snake was immediately upon him. The whole bulk of his upper body propelled his fist into the sociopath's face, blood coating his knuckles. His limp body dropped to the floor. Snake had half a second to spin around, hands gripping the pistol, drawing a precise bead between the eyebrows of Tosoh, back on his feet. A surprised gasp, a quiet click, the slide closed with a snap, and his body met the ground with a liquid thud. Done.  
  
Now it was just Bennet left. Incapacitated on the ground, the lucky recipient of Snake's undivided attention and unbridled rage. He lashed out in quick percussion with both fists, one merely gloved, one grasping the pistol. Blows which fell like thundering rain beat the blonde body on the floor, conscious but powerless. The throbbing at the base of Snake's head mixed with the horror of the decapitated bodies and the sweet revel of the violence he was dispensing. He could feel the victims' fear, their dread, and knew that each pulse of his own heart had the potential to make this madman pay dearly. His knuckles and the butt of his gun were slowly coated in blood. Small viscous gurgles - pleas? - leaked from the sides of Bennet's mouth, followed by rivulets of deep red liquid. Snake could barely see through his rage and through the slow imperceptible spread of black across his eyes. Finally, he felt the body beneath him yield, dead, and forced his fists to cease. Breath swarmed into his lungs. The victims were vindicated. The evil had been defeated.  
  
But Snake's victory would be short lived. From behind, through the hatch door and up the metal stairs, a half dozen men descended, weapons at the ready. He sprang for the opened door, flattening himself against the wall, protected from sight by the door's metal bulk. While their shocked stares darted to the newly dead on the right, Snake slipped with the grace of a whisper to the left. As their heads turned inevitably away and to the left, Snake danced to the right. He was behind them, through the door, and softly up the stairs.  
  
His breaths came in gasps now, the unending stairway curled above his vision like he was ascending from hell. Was he far enough away from the bottom, the nerve center of the base, to risk using the codec? He knew with panicked certainty that his muscles showed the shadow of fatigue. His vision was worsening and his throbbing head meant he was not thinking crisply, not reacting fast enough. He had to get out of there and he needed Otacon's help. Would he survive, running for two miles when the land was so flat you could almost see the curve of the earth? When the whole base was just waiting for a glimpse of him, when he would have no cover to dodge a sharpshooter's aim and when his brain was on fire? He stopped on a landing, palms on the wall, working to still his breath and his heart and just  _listen_  for a moment. Was there anyone coming? He could hear the hollow clank of metal beneath him, echoing up from fathoms below. How much further? The light was so dim before that he could barely see. Now, through the black haze of screaming nerve endings, he was as good as blind. Adrenaline pushed him forward, up the stairs, three at a time, until he ran smack into a closed metal door. Fuck?! He couldn't even see three feet in front of him. But yes, yes, was this finally it? Had he reached the surface? He holstered the gun and put both hands to work twisting open the screw latch, prying it open but keeping his body safely behind the metal protection. Light streamed in, but it wasn't sunrise, it was rows of fluorescent tubes. Close, he had to be close. Unholstered, he brought the gun up to eye level. Ever mindful of the angry metal noises below, he walked silently but swiftly. The corridor was brightly lit with doors on both sides, some open and laden with potential danger, some closed. At the end was another heavy blast door, one which he prayed would lead outside. The sound of crunching came from Snake's right and he spun without needing to think, finger squeezing off two rounds that embedded themselves soundlessly in the throat of a man sitting behind a desk. He stared at Snake with large eyes, color spilling and saturating his shirt a brilliant red. No time for thought, no time for sympathy. Could he have bypassed the door without being caught? Perhaps. But instinct gave you only one option. The man slumped to the ground and Snake glided towards the blast door. Once more, he holstered his gun, twisted open the door, and peered out, muzzle first. A concrete ramp, and a large grate that covered it, and beyond that - sunlight.  
  
"Otacon, are you there?" His voice held a touch of fear in it. It was small but present and there was a near insurmountable probability that Hal would notice. He wished he could have masked it. He was injured in a way where he couldn't simply field dress it and carry on, and he needed Hal undistracted and thinking clearly so they could both get out of there alive. Instantly, the engineer's voice cut through the silence.  
"Snake! Thank god, where are you?" He was breathless with fear as well, but that wasn't unexpected.  
"At the base. I'm fine, but I need a quick exit. Get over here A S A fucking P. I'll meet you on the highway." His voice had returned to its normal, gruff, in control, and always cool and unaffected tenor.  
"I'm on my way. Be there in two minutes." Silence faded back in and Snake let out a faint grunt, the throbbing in his head had turned to flashes of electricity. He leaned against the wall, gun pointed at the door he'd just come through, daring anyone to be bold or stupid enough to chase him onto the ramp.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Hal's eyes bore into the clock on the computer resting on his lap. The sun had not yet risen, but piercing rays of light, harbingers of the brilliant red orb, spelled their doom as they blasted out over the rim of the horizon. The blood raced through his body, his thumbs idly picking at the seat covers. 6:36. A sliver of the sun would emerge in just a few precious minutes. It would be fully risen just past the hour. At that point, they were both as good as dead. Where  _was_  he? Hal itched to flip on the codec and whisper over the air, just to see if he was okay. Like whispering would do any good. He could scream at the top of his lungs if he wanted, but the indistinguishable signal would be a red flag for anyone smart and dangerous enough to be scanning for it. His eyes were wide with fear, his brain holding a steady shrieking note to keep from imagining all the possibilities. 6:38. Where the hell was he?!  
  
"Otacon, are you there?" And there it was, the small and simple signal that meant Snake was indeed still alive. His breath caught painfully as he was twisted, simultaneously rejoicing and panicking. There was no way to disguise it, Snake was in pain and had been running. Not caught, but definitely running, trying to escape.  
"Snake! Thank god, where are you?" The words spilled from his lips, hands already running on instinct, closing and stowing laptops, removing and unplugging equipment, sliding back into the driver's seat and bringing the car to life.  
"At the base. I'm fine, but I need a quick exit." The fear and pain in Snake's voice were suddenly gone. "Get over here A S A fucking P. I'll meet you on the highway." Quick exit. Not good. Not good at all. Even if his voice no longer betrayed the situation, Hal understood clearly what was about to happen. Before putting the car in gear, Hal reached over the back of the seat and pulled a bulletproof vest out from the mess of wires and peripherals. There  _was_  something at N38. There was something that Snake was running from, worse, something that was chasing him. Could the little Subaru outrun a Metal Gear? Could it outrun army vehicles driven by viciously enraged soldiers? He was damn sure going to try.  
"I'm on my way. Hal popped the clutch and the mud flew. "Be there in two minutes." Less, if he could help it.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Snake waited on the concrete ramp, the time between each breath growing longer, the seconds ticking by slower. A black shroud was wrapping around his mind and closing off his connection with consciousness in warm, welcoming tugs. Would it be a simple blow to the back of his head that would do him in? After all the knife blades and bullets his flesh had absorbed? It would only be too easy to succumb. As hard as he fought, inevitably his eyelids would close and he would slump to the ground, pistol falling from his limp grip. Death, either by wound or enemy, would be upon him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his one connection with the world. But they were failing him. The blackness which had crept into the corners of his vision was glazing over the center of his sight. The pounding of his blood morphed from sparks of pain into a dulling throb as his mind tried to compensate and the beginnings of shock set in. The door on the world was closing. He couldn't hear the muffled sound of a car approaching above or the staccato of feet in the corridor below which he'd just crossed through. It was only when the group of pursuing soldiers slammed open the outer door that Snake knew it was time to run, time to find higher ground. Three rounds clicked out of the barrel of his M9, two bodies fell. Snake's third shot found its home in the wall while the last solider opened fire. One bullet out of the swarm arced towards Snake with prophetic aim. The bullet entered his right bicep and tumbled, tearing his flesh further open. It exited bearing blood and musculature onto the brown grass at his feet. Yet the pain was nothing but a profaning fly buzzing at his ear. He was running, and Otacon and the Subaru were in front of him.  
  
He could see his partner crouch down, making as small a target as possible. The soldiers behind him were merely muted noise, their gunshots as fleeting and unimportant as raindrops on a window. He could see the animated fear in Otacon's eyes as he approached, opening the rear driver-side door and diving into the relative safety of the vinyl seats. He felt more than heard the transmission grasp at first gear. The back tires spun and gripped in a split second and then it was nothing but pavement and random shouts mixed with angry gunfire behind them, becoming ever faded and distant. And then Otacon was shouting too, but his words were nothing but a familiar murmur. A wave of serenity overtook him, his limbs were filled with a mixture of safety and deep exhaustion. Snake's eyes closed and the world went finally black.  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

"Snake? Snake! Snake, wake up! Oh my god. Oh,  _fuck_!" He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, his heart beating louder than the pistons in the engine, louder than the drone of rubber on pavement, louder than the gunfire which was fading in the distance. Two minutes. He'd made it. But now Snake was passed out in the backseat, and there was blood  _everywhere_. Funny how the human brain blotted out matters of less import in times of crisis. Otacon could be thinking about the fact that, by god, he'd been right about nefarious workings at site N38. He could be thinking about their hideout above Ella's and whether it was worth it to drive back and gather up their meager belongings to make it more difficult to trace their flight. He could be thinking about the apparent para-military base they'd just left, and whether the fruits of Snake's labor meant the Metal Gear was destroyed. Many things  _could_  have gone through his head in these moments, but instead it was only the thunderous screaming that Snake was here, in the back seat bleeding out, and deathly still. How far was far enough to ensure they were away from the base? How far was too far to stop and check if Snake was breathing, make sure he wasn't dead? There was no right decision, and Hal found himself driving back in a straight line to Bismarck, to their apartment, his only instinct and just about the worst decision possible. His eyes blurred behind his lenses as tears clouded his vision. Snake was unmoving and silent and all Otacon could think about was how he had felt in his arms when he pulled him out of the water after the Tanker Incident. His body had been so cold and his existence so fragile. Snake had lived, but how close to death had he been? Was he going to lose him now?  
  
He angled the rear view mirror so he could see his prone body in the backseat, arm twisted at an angle, blood smeared across his chest and pooling on the seat. He could tell his eyelids weren't twitching, his chest wasn't moving.  
 _His chest wasn't moving._  
He had to stop, he couldn't drive all the way back to Bismarck. The last rational piece of his mind grabbed him and shook him out of his blind panic. Must stop. Must find medical help. There were scattered buildings on the roadside, signaling the approach of the outskirts of some town they'd driven through earlier in the darkness. Highway 52 loomed ahead, winding through a town just large enough to shield their conspicuity from trailing military forces. He wiped the tears from his eyes, squinting and straining to find a hospital in the piercing morning light. At least there was no one out yet - he glanced down at the speedometer and physically forced his foot to lighten on the gas pedal. As badly as he yearned to leave it stomped to the floor, it wouldn't do to get stopped by a traffic cop, arrested for the bloody body in the backseat... Better to drive just a little slower.  
  
And then he found it. Parkside Animal Hospital. It was perfect, it was better than perfect. And the lights in the front were just coming on. He skidded into the driveway, barely missing an outlandishly large potted plant and jamming on the parking brake. He didn't bother with either the clutch or neutral, so the car shuddered and killed. He was already out of his seat, banging on the clinic door.  
"Hello? Hello?! Someone please open the door!" He saw a young lady in blue scrubs peek around the desk, bewildered. He wasn't sure if he should keep screaming, would it encourage her to move quicker or call the police? She shuffled to the front door and opened it, leaving the storm door between them, locked. "I'm sorry, I really need your help, my friend and I were hunting and he was shot and he's bleeding everywhere and now he's not breathing and-" she opened the screen door to stop his stream of words. His eyes were too earnest and the edges of his lenses were fogged from crying.  
  
"Let's get him inside." A man in a green polo shirt stuck his head into the reception office.  
"Is everything all right, Tracy?"  
"Open up the back, we have an emergency." He straightened perceptibly and retreated to start prepping. Hal was a stream of words.  
"Thank you, thank you so much, he's right over here..." She followed him quickly, tying her hair back as they rushed to the car. She stifled a gasp when her eyes landed on Snake's body and a cold rush of panic shot through Hal's veins. A scream, a question, it could be all over in no time at all. There was a man sprawled limply in the backseat, dressed in what could have been a Halloween costume or a combat diving suit, a handgun with a silencer on the floor, his hands covered in blood, the window splattered in blood. His arm was pierced not with a single wound, but torn apart in multiple locations, flesh mixing with tendons and shredded vasculature. Questions were racing through her mind, but she simply laid her fingers on his throat, searching for a pulse. This was no hunting accident, but from the prone man's pitiful condition and the abject despair of the other's fright, she decided she didn't want to know more. There it was, a pulse thready but present, his heart keeping tenuous time. She could feel the barest of breath on her knuckles.  
"He's breathing, help me lift him." Hal shuddered out a grateful sigh, his limbs filled with purpose and determination, despair fled. He was breathing, for now, and everything depending on him keeping a cool head and on the skillful hands of an angel named Tracy.  
  
The veterinarian in the polo shirt opened the back door as they carried Snake in, and the questions started before he was laid on the examination table.  
"What in God's name? This isn't an emergency! Tracy, what the hell are you doing? Why did you let them in?" She fixed him with a steely glare.  
"Greg, we can discuss this later, right now I made a decision and we are helping these men!"  
"No we're  _not_." His tone held no room for debate. "I am not having any part in this." He shot daggers at Hal. "Get him the hell out of here, he does not belong in my hospital!" Anger boiled in Hal's veins. He would not be denied help for Dave, now that he was here. He was breathing, for how long? If he put him back in the car and tried to find a hospital, there was no guarantee he'd make it. Moving him from the car had undone any coagulation that his wounds had attempted on the drive from the missile site, and Hal's hands and shirt were bloody. Blood was spreading across the examination table and the woman's hands were helpless and still. Dave was simply pale and silent. He had seen him like this before and the memory was all too fresh. No, he  _would not_ fail him now.  
  
Hal stormed out to the car and grabbed the first weapon he saw, the M9 from the backseat, rushing in before the door had a chance to close.  
"I am  _not_  going to ask again. He needs your help and I am not  _leaving_  until he gets it!" The barrel was pointed firmly at Greg's shocked face. Without a word, the woman went to work, pulling out gauze, vials of liquid, forceps, all the equipment it took to piece a man back together. Polo Shirt simply stood there, shocked. Hal's eyebrows drew together, his eyes cold. "You're helping, too. If he doesn't make it, neither will you."  
"Greg, for the love of God, get me a hemostat and the silver nitrate." Tracy didn't need encouragement to work, she already had Snake's upper bicep wrapped in a tourniquet and was filling a syringe. "How much does he weigh?" Hal tore his eyes from Greg, who was now flitting nervously from cupboard to cupboard, gathering equipment.  
"Um, 210, 220?" She eased the needle into his intact left arm.  
"Good. This should be enough."  
  
Hal watched them work, wincing slightly when Tracy began to dig in his musculature for bullet fragments, his grip on the pistol quivering slightly. Hal collapsed onto one of the stools, watching them work, gun at his side. He wanted to help so badly, wanted to be able to do  _something_  other than sit and worry. He knew the nanomachines were working as best they could, but it would take sutures to mend his body, not merely programming. He knew it was foolish, but he just wanted a blink from Snake, a finger twitch, anything. He was so doped up now from the drugs and the shock that it would be impossible, but he found himself staring at his limp fingers, straining in order to will them to life. He would not lose him, he couldn't. All that remained without Snake was a cold encompassing void. It was the companionship, it was the challenge of Philanthropy, it was the friendship which had built over the years. Dave knew him like no other, and without him he was absolutely alone, adrift and directionless. He had no family left, no close friends, colleagues... His whole world was Dave. Tears fogged up his glasses again, his throat closed, and he gave into quiet sobs as the two veterinarians worked. What had it all been for today? He didn't even know what Snake had found. Was it worth  _all this_? Was it worth the pain and the possibility that he would never come back? His sniffles brought the attention of Greg and stilled his hands. Hal's jaw tightened and the gun flew to shoulder level.  
  
"Keep working." Hal's teeth ground together and Greg focused back on Snake, properly threatened. He stared down the barrel of the gun. With sickening clarity, Hal knew he had the capacity to carry out his threat. The gun made him dangerous, but the situation had only crystallized his innate potential. If they stopped working,  _really and truly_  refused to help, he would kill them both. There would be no remorse or hesitation, he would splatter their brains across the walls. At first, he was pleading for their help, and it barely crossed his mind that he might be denied. But when confronted with it, and with the sure possibility that Dave would die, threatening them was the only option. Would it be a just sentence for taking away the one brilliant thing in his life?  
Yes. Dave would not die. Dave  _could_  not die. If he did, everyone would share his pain. These thoughts frightened Hal to the core, but he knew they were true.  
  
Over the din in his head, he heard Tracy and Greg talking.  
"He doesn't have enough."  
"Well, we don't have any  _here_ , what do you expect?"  
Tracy eyed Hal. "What blood type is he?" He knew.  
"A positive. He needs a transfusion, doesn't he? I'm B negative, I..."  
"I'm A positive." No hesitation. "Greg, get the pressure transfusion kit and some iodine."  
"Are you  _crazy_? You take him in, put this whole practice at risk. This madman is holding us at gunpoint, and you're offering him your  _blood_?"  
"You are absolutely no help! It doesn't matter that he has a gun, he needs our help regardless, you're just too blind to realize that. You," she glared at Hal, "the iodine is in the cabinet behind you, the kit's in the drawer to your left."  
"Jesus Christ, Tracy." He threw his hands in the air. "I'll get it, I just don't fucking understand you."  
  
Hal watched them work, watched the needles slide into each of their arms, watched Tracy's face relax as the blood left her body and pooled in a glass jar. The gun returned to his side. No, he wouldn't kill her, even if Dave didn't make it. His bloodlust could be tempered. But he would kill Greg, and revel in it. One life for another, not two.  
She was doing her best to keep him alive. The jar filled quickly, aided by gravity and Tracy's quickly beating heart. He held the gauze over the needle wound as Greg removed it and began setting up the equipment which would feed her blood into Snake's veins. Hal couldn't tear his eyes away as the blood flowed, disappearing greedily into his body. The rarest bit of color returned to Dave's skin. It was barely noticeable, but it gave him hope. The tears dried on his face and the sour doctor cleaned up the equipment. Minutes ticked by, but Dave was still. Worry and fatigued hope were etched on his face.  
"He'll be all right now, he just needs time to recover." Tracy's patient smile caught Hal's eye and when he looked back, he could see that Dave's chest was rising and falling. Faintly, but perceptible.  
"Oh thank god." He let out a long sigh, the tension fading, taking a brief moment to shut his eyes in relief. "Thank you, thank you both so much."  
  
Greg wheeled him out on the examining table while Tracy held the door. Both men struggled to lay him in the backseat.  
"You were never here. This never happened, and I don't want to see either of you  _ever_  again. Are we clear? You may have the gun, but you can give me that much." Hal nodded in understanding, and Greg disappeared back inside.  
"So you know, he probably won't come out of it for at least another 2 or 3 hours. And then he's going to be in a lot of pain." Tracy placed a small plastic bottle in Hal's hands. Give him half a tablet  _if_  he needs it, no less than 6 hours apart. These are horse tranqs, so do  _not_  overdo it. And if he starts having an allergic reaction from the transfusion, then he absolutely  _needs_  a  _people_ hospital, clear?" Hal smiled at her appreciatively.  
"Yes, we're clear. Thank you so much, I don't know what I would have done without your help." Shock and shame swept over Hal's face in sudden realization. "I just got you fired, didn't I?" But Tracy only smirked.  
"Kind of hard to fire your wife. He'll get over it, and he's been under a lot of stress lately.” Her smirk turned to a worried frown. “His sister disappeared a few weeks ago. She's a schoolteacher, she recently got married, it makes no sense... We're both really scared for her." The frown on Hal's face deepened.  
“I am so sorry. We heard about it on the news.”  
“Thanks, but that's really not your worry. I just sincerely hope you and your friend stay out of trouble." She retreated inside and then Hal was left with his thoughts, an unconscious man in the back of a blood-stained Subaru, and a desperate need to get out of town.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The sky was a blank palette of blue, no clouds to mar it, and the sun had risen high overhead. With both hands planted firmly on the steering wheel, the speedometer reading higher than it should, and frequent, fervent glances to the back seat, he drove. The road and the absent plain stretched before them endlessly. Dave was still silent in the back seat, the quiet sound of his breathing muffled by the noise of the engine and the air streaming past them. Without checks to the backseat, it was impossible to tell if Dave was alive or if he was frighteningly alone.  
  
The landscape had emptied around them. The glossily paved four lane highway, speckled with gas stations and adult video stores, had merged into two quite some time ago. Outposts of humanity were replaced by the odd windmill, spinning fruitlessly, or an ancient corner fencepost, more massive than its counterparts, but eroding slowly against merciless time. The quality of the asphalt had steadily decreased. The Subaru's suspension was now being tested by potholes and ridges buckled from the thawing ground, maybe once every 15 seconds. Hal knew the road quality would steadily decline. He was daring glances to the backseat when they passed over particularly deep holes, hoping for but noticing no change on Dave's countenance.  
He was still breathing, that he was sure of. Color had returned to his cheeks and if not for the dried blood, he would simply be asleep.  
  
The two lanes drew narrower and Hal had to keep both hands on the steering wheel to ensure he stayed in his lane. There hadn't been another car for the better part of an hour, but he couldn't take chances. His stomach was clenching in annoyance, reminding him that their last meal had been over twelve hours ago. It was hardly a meal. A few slices of toast, coffee. If his ultimate destination lay over the border, which it did, it would be wise to stop for supplies first.  
  
Canada was the only acceptable destination. Perhaps by process of elimination, their pursuers would assume they'd jumped the border, but two independent men had a much better chance of crossing than a parade of military types in armored vehicles. No, tracking them down in the states would be too easy. They had been living in Bismarck, they'd gotten medical attention that morning, not far away. People knew their faces. They would be able to recognize their car. And how far could he reasonably drive before collapsing? Before running out of fuel?  
  
With one hand, he propped open the lid of the closest laptop, booted it up, and opened the GPS app. He hated risking any exposure, but his guilty conscience was deferred - for now - by the fact that no one was  _immediately_  pursuing them. As he always did, one eye on the road, one on the screen, Hal encrypted the GPS chatter, feeding it into chains of mix servers which modified the encryption layering at each node. If someone was after them, they could only triangulate their present location. Deciphering his intent would be impossible.  
  
So, that's where they were - Hal allowed a satisfied little grunt past his lips. Not bad for having driven this far with no direction save the climbing sun. Fifteen miles to the border, three to a little town where he could buy supplies and then disappear. He quickly powered down the laptop and inventoried the bills in his side pocket. With all the preparation early this morning, he couldn't remember how much money he had on him, much less putting it there. Wadded down in the bottom - he had to shift his right foot against the accelerator to reach it - was a clump of old money, thoroughly washed and tumble dried. His findings went onto the seat next to him, and his hands and feet went back to their rightful places. One mile. He could see a tall gas station sign resolving itself over the brim of the hood, bright colorful letters in stark contrast to the drab sea of color which blended the land and buildings together seamlessly.  
  
Hal noted the gas tank was still half full, so he pulled the Subaru to the far side of the building, away from the lone truck fueling, away from the windows that lined the other walls. For a moment, he hesitated with his hand on the key, fearful that turning off the engine would somehow mean it would never start again. He had been doing well up to this point, occupying himself with a thousand other mindless things, but... Panic washed over him in a great shudder and he stuffed a long, deep breath into his lungs to clear his mind. This would not be the time to break down. No, not yet. Hours from now, then he could fall apart. When they were safely over the border, when they were someplace warm with food in front of them and Dave coming around to consciousness. Dave... Another deep breath, and his fingers silenced the engine. The money he'd piled, plus some spare change the previous owner had left in the ashtray, amounted to $40.56. Not as bad as it could have been, but not what he'd hoped. It would have to make do.  
  
Now that his head was clear, he glanced over the backseat. Blood spattered the windows in artful fashion and oozed to dry on the floor. The seat was an utter nightmare of lost fluids. If someone saw... He inventoried his options. Dave probably still had the non-metallic knife concealed on the the back of his suit. There was a Glock 32 stashed under the front passenger seat. The M9 Dave brought back from the site, the one he'd used in the clinic, was lying discarded on the floor behind him. Large bulky silencer, probably only one or two rounds left... Not the ideal choice if things went south. An image of pushing the barrel against Greg the veterinarian's nose, his face exploding as he pulled the trigger rose, unbidden... His head swam. So much had happened in the past few hours. So much  _could_  have, but blessedly didn't.  
  
There were more weapons in the trunk, but primarily of the large caliber, assault rifle flavor. He donned his jacket, covering up his bloody shirt. The Glock went into his inner jacket pocket, but as soon as he reached for the zipper, he knew it was a mistake. Too heavy, it would make its presence apparent with the lopsided bulge it produced. He wasn't going in to rob the place... Dammit, Hal! Gritting his teeth in rebuke, he ensured the safety was on and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans, the cool metal against the small of his back.  
  
Probably no one who was following them would come across this same store, but it was never wrong to take precautions. He inspected his face in the mirror - no blood, thank god. Attached to the driver-side visor was a pair of wrap-around sporty sunglasses. A quick inspection of the glove compartment yielded two rubber bands. His hair was just long enough to collect in a tiny knot at the back of his head. He gathered as much as would hold and tucked a few shorter locks behind the sunglasses perched atop his head. Not perfect, but he didn't look like himself, and that would suffice.  
  
Prepared, he locked the car and strolled as nonchalant as he could manage into the gas station without the benefit of his prescription glasses. He hoped it didn't show. This was a perfect little 'everything' store, designed to cater to the locals and the weekend warriors. There were two aisles in the center, filled with everything a man could need on a camping trip - but which he'd probably forgotten to pack, and now his wife and children were outside in the RV, tried and hungry. Hal turned his hands into dinner plates and grabbed. Cans of soup, matches, a box of instant rice, instant coffee, a bag of apples, a bar of soap, a roll of toilet paper... He took what remained of a box of energy bars from the shelf, and deposited it all on the counter in front of an apparently nonplussed woman who was gazing out of the windows and half paying attention to the unfamiliar man in front of her. "Afternoon, sir." There was no fancy bar code scanner, no price stickers on the items. She must have known each item by heart and punched the amounts into the aging register with reflex precision. "Twenty-seven fifteen." Hal grimaced, nearly forgetting the most important item.  
"Pack of cigarettes, too. Lucky Strikes."  
"Thirty-one twenty-nine."  
The cash produced, the goods bagged, he strode from the store with a brief 'thanks', passing the man who'd finished pumping gas on the way out. He wasn't aware he was holding a breath, but it exhausted from his lungs as he sunk into the drivers seat. A glance to the back told him Snake had not moved. He was breathing steadily. Small miracles. The pack of cigarettes went into the cup holders, patiently awaiting the fingers of their consumer.  
  
Step two - get across the border. The GPS had shown him an abandoned road that ran directly west from town, paralleling the invisible border between North Dakota and Manitoba. All that lay between were fallow fields and the slight chance that a well-positioned wary eye would spot a small Subaru off-roading it to freedom. The key slid into the ignition and the car started without hesitation. The rubber bands came out and the sunglasses returned to the visor. He downed one of the energy bars as he drove. Ten miles, just to be safe. He'd put distance between themselves and the town and the lone car which had passed them a few minutes ago. It was now just a speck on the horizon. He turned the wheels onto what passed for the gravel shoulder, taking the ditch at a slow angle, easing it onto the field. It would be better to do this under cover of night, but he wasn't staying in one place and he definitely wasn't driving all day along the border until the gas tank was empty.  
  
He tried to set a moderate pace balancing speed with caution. Last year's plowed furrows had mellowed with time and the melted snow. The suspension on the little car took each one like a champ. Snake didn't fall, but his arm listed to one side as they bounced, flailing out over the seat. Hal had to maintain precise speed, enough to keep them propelled north but not so much that the tires spun, kicking up mud, slicking the earth, getting them stuck in the mushy ground. He couldn't afford to get them stranded in his haste. It was more difficult than he had imagined and sweat beaded on his scalp, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel until his knuckles were nothing but bones and white. There was no risk of needing to change gears, and his forearms slowly grew sore from holding the same position, keeping the wheel from shaking the car into a muddy mire. Large puddles grew into small ponds and the road receded in the rear view mirror. The sun was only about 10 degrees above the horizon. The shadow of the car stretched along the ground. Maybe two hours, and it would be dark.  
  
Motion in the mirror caught his attention as semi truck passed on the road behind. It was far away now, too far he hoped, for the driver to see them out of the corner of his eyes. There was little chance that they would be caught crossing, but Hal couldn't help worrying. In a situation like this, a little worrying was a good thing. His mind stretched ahead to the tasks that lay before him. Finding shelter. Ditching the car, finding another. Tending to Snake. Why hadn't he woken yet? That woman - Tracy - said he would be out only for a few hours, but it had been all day. The pill bottle rolled in the passenger foot well, mocking him. He tried to occupy his mind with other subjects, retracing the morning's events, going over his hacks... Had he left any red flags? It was fruitless and he drove on, mind and stomach tied in bitter knots of fear.  
  
By the time the sun's edge kissed the horizon, Hal noted a glint of red in the distance, caught in the long rays of setting light. As he drew nearer, it coalesced into a stop sign. A tiny lump of hope knotted in his gut and his eyes panned across the edge of what was becoming a road, striving to identify any shapes which could morph into vehicles. But there were none. He strained to prevent himself from pressing down on the accelerator. It wouldn't do to be hasty now, not when he was so close. Agonizing minutes ticked by, and the tires kissed the gravel edge. Canada? He gave it gas and the tires grasped the slight embankment, pulling the tired heap of metal to the asphalt surface. At the sign, he braked, resting his head on the top of the steering wheel momentarily, closing his eyes and breathing deep. His fingers released the wheel and curved reflexively, clenching and unclenching, working away the stiffness in his joints. He lifted his head, clear now, and gazed down the road that lay ahead. A few yards in front was another sign, white, declaring 'Maximum 100'. A speed sign. Kilometers per hour. He allowed a grin to split his face. They were across the border. He put the car back in gear and followed the connecting road north. The tires shed their mud coating and he allowed a flower of optimism to blossom in his chest.  
  
The sun was extinguished below the horizon before Hal heard a small grunt from the backseat. His eyes, dilated from the dark and weary with driving, immediately focused, his lips pursed in relief and surprise. He whispered without turning around.  
"Dave?" Another groan, softer this time, laced with pain.  
"Mmm... Hal? Where are we?"  
"Well away from Bismarck. We crossed into Manitoba about two hours ago." He paused, lest his words speed up, spill together in his anxiousness, and render any meaning void. Slowly, now. "Are you in pain?" A sardonic half-laugh.  
"Tons." Hal eased the car to the side of the road and grabbed the pills and a water bottle before exiting and opening the rear door. It felt good to stretch his legs, but the small joy was washed away upon seeing Dave's whitened face in the dim light. Wordlessly, he cradled his head in his lap and opened both bottles. He broke a pill in half with his fingers. Horse tranquilizers. Just a half.  
"Do you think you can swallow this?" He didn't open his eyes, shut tightly against the pain, only grunting in acknowledgment. Hal brought the medicine and the water to his mouth and Dave swallowed gratefully. When he took the water away, Dave murmured for more, and Hal let him drink his fill until the bottle was half gone. He stroked his hair unconsciously. "About 20 more minutes. There's a lake near here and probably some vacant vacation cabins. Will you be okay?" He nodded slightly and Hal gently placed his head back on the seats. When he started driving again, he accelerated slowly, his awareness of Dave's injuries again fresh. There was little sound from the backseat as he drove, just heavy breathing and an occasional grunt when he hit uneven pavement too quickly. He was grateful, to the pit of his stomach, that he hadn't been awake for the trek through the fields earlier.  
  
At least a dozen minutes ached by before Hal saw faint lights through the windscreen. Was it the lake? There were a few vehicles on the road, mostly trucks, mostly heading away from the lake. It was far too early in the season for a crowd of vacationers, Hal guessed many were locals. A mote of hope grew in his throat. Maybe finding shelter for the night wouldn't be as difficult as he feared. He only had US dollars, and only eight and some change at that. They would have to break in - correction,  _he_  would have to break in - or risk spending the night in a blood-soaked car. While it wouldn't kill them at this point, he didn't relish spending another hour on the stiff, vinyl seats.  
  
His bloodshot eyes panned across every sign, hoping for some gentle suggestion. It was only street signs and highway markers for what seemed like ages. Prairie Lane. Meadowlark Court. Banal, pastoral names that ground at his thinning patience. A few children on bicycles, daring the dark and the spring chill. Caribou Boulevard. Lake View Cabins. There - finally. Their first possibility. No cars around, he turned off the headlights and pulled into the driveway. He could still see, albeit dimly, ahead. But his heart lodged in his throat when he realized the daytime running lights were still on. Super-sleuth Otacon, at your service. God - how to turn them off? He pushed in the clutch. Nope. Put it into neutral as they coasted along. Nope. Tap on the brakes? The rear view mirror was awash in red. Stupid! The car had lost momentum, so he eased it back into first. The parking brake? He yanked up, causing the car to lurch forward and Snake to emit a muffled yell from the backseat. Success! The headlights were gone. He released the handbrake and clicked it back just once, not enough to set the brakes. Lights off. The ECU was tricked into thinking the car was motionless. Hal drove on, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, using the random streetlight for guidance.  
  
There was just a handful of cars parked in front of plastic sided houses passing as cabins to urban escapees. As he drove, the asphalt stopped and gravel began, winding through towering pine trees which sprang to life all around. One parked car. Two. Then they ceased. The road continued on and Hal kept one watchful eye in front, one trained on the rear view mirror until the flicker of streetlights disappeared. The road tipped sharply down and he was presented with a sight so beautiful, he prayed it wasn't a mirage. One cabin at the end of the gravel, down the hill, facing the lake. Out of sight.  
  
He pulled the car to the far side of the cottage and turned the engine off, allowing himself the luxury to relax for a moment.  
"Snake?"  
"Hmm? What did you find?" His voice wafted, not quite awake or asleep.  
"A place for the night. Stay here while I get us inside." Breaking and entering. Today was a first on many accounts. He waited for Dave's skepticism, but it never came. Hal grabbed the Glock from the passenger seat and opened the door, cursing the dome light when it sprang to life, blinded him, and informed every creature within several hundred yards of their existence. He clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and padded up the simple wood stairs to the door. There was no deadbolt, no fancy card reader, just a simple locked knob. Perhaps the super sleuth would be able to redeem himself after all. He cupped the gun lightly in one hand and fished for his wallet. Other than the eight dollars, there were only two cards - one his own driver's license, another for Nick Llewellyn, Minnesotan. Fearing he'd tear the low quality plastic on the fake, he set down the gun and slid his own license into the door jamb. It slid in almost half an inch and stopped. He pressed harder, but the card only bowed, refusing to move any further.  
  
Hal was suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, the cold wind creeping around his collar, up his sleeves. An owl somewhere in the distance. Something small, rustling through the fallen pine needles. The loaded gun by his side, and Dave drugged up and vulnerable in the car. He had to get this. He would not be left standing here in the cold, Dave probably blacking out by now from the fresh dose. He clenched his tongue between his teeth and pushed, slowly but firmly, praying the card didn't snap in half. A little further - so he tried the knob. It would only jiggle, bolt fixed, but there was play. Enthused, he pushed the card further until - finally! The bolt slid free and the knob gave way, opening into a perfectly dark room. Without a thought, Hal stuffed his badly chipped driver's license back into his pocket and grasped the gun in both hands. It never hurt to be too careful.  
  
He pushed the door open, eyes scanning the dark living room, but there was no sign of movement. Nothing in the small kitchen which occupied the far wall. He padded softly down the lone hallway, stopping at two opposing doors. He tried the nearest first, opening into a bathroom. The shower curtains were drawn and the room was dark and absent. Behind the second door lay a bedroom, complete with menacing closet. Hal swallowed down the lump of irrational fear and eased the closet door open with the barrel of the Glock. Nothing but empty clothes hangers and the stench of mothballs. He took a moment to breathe deeply, letting the simmering tension dissolve. His attention immediately drew back to Dave.  
  
He walked outside, pulled the rear door open and tenderly hauled him out of the car, arm slung around his shoulders. Getting both of them into the cabin was tricky business. It was a sort of lurch-step, one foot shuffling in front of the other, dragging with limp fatigue behind, until they reached the porch steps. Hal was at a loss. How to get him up the stairs? He took a deep breath, summoning strength from every sinew, and wrapped one arm around Dave's upper legs. He strained, pulling at unused muscles, lifting him as he stood, up to the porch landing. Hal had been holding in a great sigh and he let it out, let the oxygen wash away the lactic acid smothering his cells. He wrapped his arms around Dave and supported most of his weight, pushing the door open and half-dragging him into the living room. As he laid him on the couch, the solider only emitted a soft moan, collapsing against the cushions. The tranquilizers had taken superb effect.  
  
Hal's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he scavenged a few blankets and pillows from the bedroom. There was no way he could move him any further and no way in hell he was leaving him out here in the front room, unguarded. He covered him with a blanket and carefully propped one pillow behind his head. Dave's unkempt hair was a total mess now, grease and mud and blood caking the strands. But there was nothing left that he could do tonight. Hal created himself a little nest on the floor, propped up against the couch, pistol cradled loosely in his hand, and fell instantly into restless sleep.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 **Friday**  
  
The sun slanted around the drawn shades, poking at Hal's eyelids and rousing him from shallow, troubled slumber. The edges of a dream were rapidly escaping him, but he remembered a feeling of home - warmth, safety, a displaced image of Duo from Gundam, and Dave's perpetual good-natured scowl, chastising him for something which vanished at the periphery of consciousness. As he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the same blank room from yesterday, bathed now in the mellow orange tones of the rising sun. The gun had slipped from his hand in sleep, but nothing was disturbed. He could feel Dave's soft breath behind him, and he twisted his neck to confirm that he was still asleep on the couch above. Hal let out a deep breath, mind swirling with relief and disbelief. He was still alive, after all that had happened yesterday. But trying to wrap his head around the events was another thing altogether.  
  
He'd driven Dave to safety under a verifiable hail of gunfire, held doctors at gunpoint, been prepared to commit armed robbery, crossed into Canada illegally, and to end his parade of crime, broken into this guest cabin. A mixture of fear, thrilling rebellion, and chagrined pride melted onto his face. He'd brought them to safety thus far. Could he keep them out of danger while he recovered? He could be strong for both of them, yesterday taught him there were greater limits to his abilities than he'd previously dreamed. But how long could he keep it up? How long before he made one careless mistake or fate caught up to them and ripped everything apart?  
  
Another sigh - for now, they were safe, and the next task was to create something of a nourishing breakfast. He padded out to the car, steps soft and careful, watching around him for any signs of movement or disturbed foliage. He collected the rest of the food and supplies, as well as his primary laptop and the cigarettes. Back inside, he found a coffeemaker smiling impishly on the far counter. Sweet deliverance! Once the coffee started percolating, he started cutting up apples and a few energy bars. The cupboards contained mugs, but no sugar. A shame, but he'd survive. He filled and then carefully balanced one cup on top of the plate with their makeshift breakfast, his cup in the other hand. If the combination of protein, sugar, coffee and nicotine didn't bring back Dave to the land of the living, nothing would. He let a smile tug at his lips as he crouched back on the floor, blowing gently to cool his coffee and let the aroma waft to Dave's nose.  
  
Hal took advantage of these beautiful minutes to let his eyes slip across his sleeping face, muscles relaxed, lips parted in dreams, eyes twitching avidly beneath his lids. His skin, though caked with dried earth and blood and trails of sweat, glowed in the light of the muted sunrise. It was drawing smoldering trails across his cheeks, down his throat, to the slight rise and fall of his chest. He couldn't deny it to himself any longer, he adored Dave. Every piece of him, each cell, every beautiful molecule. Yesterday, faced with losing him utterly, he'd found the absolute core of his fear, the bottomless depths of panic. And to have him back now, reclining on this shabby couch, beaten but very much alive... Hal's heart filled to bursting. He desperately wanted to reach out, grasp his hand, feel the pulse he could see faintly stirring the lines of his neck. Feel the warmth in his skin. Hal's lips trembled with thoughts he rapidly forbade himself from thinking - how would his mouth feel? How warm? Would he taste like cigarettes? Would his hair smell faintly like smoke if he buried his nose in those curls? Before he could banish it, a vivid image of his lips closing on Dave's warm, sun-kissed jugular... He clenched his eyes shut. No! He chided himself condescendingly - he was acting like an infatuated schoolboy. This was a serious situation, what was he thinking? It was absolutely no time for daydreaming! He opened his eyes and took a long sip of coffee. The bitterness made him focus and knocked his thoughts back in line.  
  
Dave took a long halting breath, finally rising out of the depths of sleep. It was an inhale like a realization, one that all dreamers share when shedding the delusions of sleep for the real world. Hal waited until his eyes cracked open, voice light and warm.  
"Good morning - how are you feeling?" He watched as confusion crossed his face, followed by the faint traces of disorientation. His eyes were unfocused, gazing at the ceiling.  
"Morning? What time is it?"  
"Almost seven." Dave's jaw set then, panic pulling the skin around his eyes tight, his eyes flew open wide.  
"Seven? Is the sun out?"  
"Yes." Hal's voice ended in a question. Seeing Dave's reaction made his pulse increase. What was wrong?  
"Hal - I can't see a goddamned thing." His hand stretched out, feeling the blanket, the curve of the couch back. The other groped in the air towards Hal and he set down his coffee, forgotten, to grasp Dave's seeking hand in both of his. His skin was warm, but his pulse was flying. This wasn't- no. No, no, no!!  
  
"What do you mean? You can see  _me_ , right?" Dave's eyes followed his hand, but his frightened gaze fell wandering across Hal's face, not locking onto his eyes.  
"No- nothing. It's just dark, I can't see anything!" Dave's fingers wrapped around Hal's cradling hands, locking them in an increasingly tight grip. "What happened Hal? Yesterday, I was fine!" His voice crescendoed, his eyes wide, tendons in his neck and fingers taught. Precious few times had Hal seen Dave overwhelmed, with the shadow of fear rimming his eyes. This was past fear, this was blind terror. He was swept away in an unexpected situation he didn't understand, his primary sense gone, left helpless and lost. His only connection seemed to be Hal's hands, and he was gripping them deathly tight, on the verge of splintering the bone. For Hal, Dave was his rock, his steadfast soldier and seeing him in this state left him shaking, breathless, pressed against the couch, clutching back in his desperate grip.  
  
"Dave, Dave, I'm here." His voice was shaking but he had to do something. The other man was going to pieces in front of him. His breath was coming in short gasps now, and Hal feared he might start to hyperventilate. He wrenched one hand from Dave's iron grip and placed it atop his head, fingers threading through his hair. "It's okay, it's okay, we'll get it figured out." His calming fingers smoothing his matted hair seemed to still the trembling in his hand. Dave focused on his words, maybe even believed them. Hal remembered the words the woman at the vet clinic had told him the day before. Could this be an allergic reaction? If so, could they afford to break cover and go to a hospital? Not likely. He had to think of a plan. He whispered soft nonsense words and continued stroking Dave's hair, gripping his sweating hand. His mind raced ahead, seeking probable strategies. If it meant drugs to counteract a reaction, he could procure them. Though desperately doubting his ability, he had weaponry and would use it without hesitation to get Dave proper medication. What if he needed surgery? A cold shudder curled down his spine. He stopped it just short of his fingers, anxious that Dave would pickup on his trembling fear. Surgery would mean doctors and facilities. Would mean kidnapping and holding people hostage. Could he? Potentially, but there were so many opportunities for things to go horribly wrong in a complex plan like that. Think, Otacon, think!  
  
Dave's breathing had slowed and he let out a long shuddering breath, trying to maintain control over the visceral fear.  
"Sssh, that's it. We'll figure something out." He moved his hand from Dave's hair to his forehead, feeling it lightly, trying to discern if he had a fever. His skin was sweaty, clammy, but cool. Not fighting off an infection. "I have to figure out if you're having a reaction to the transfusion. I will be  _right_  back. I'm going to get my laptop, okay?" Dave nodded his head, eyes again pointed at the ceiling, unfocused. He released Hal's hand and the engineer moved a few feet to reach the laptop that he'd deposited on the floor last night. As it booted, he moved back over to the couch, putting his back to it and placing Dave's hand on his shoulder. Contact was important. If he couldn't see Hal, at least he'd know he was there. Of course, with his military-tuned hearing, he probably knew, but...  
  
Hal pulled up a secure browser. Where to? '`blood transfusion reactions`' brought up a whole host of terrifying possibilities. He scanned the information quickly. Fever, chills, nausea, chest tightness, pain, vomiting, tachycardia - he reached back for Dave's hand, resting two fingers lightly over his wrist. The pulse was fast, but had slowed from the staccato pitch it beat a few minutes ago.  
  
"Um, Hal?" His voice was filled with trepidation. Hal fought to keep his tone even.  
"Yes?"  
"You said transfusion... What the hell happened yesterday?"  
"Well, you had a bullet lodged in your arm, and you'd lost a lot of blood... We got a couple miles and you passed out. I- I didn't know what else to do, so I took you to a vet." A startled half-cough from Dave. "Yes, well, a hospital was out of the question. Too much exposure. And I - I was absolutely worthless, I'll tell you that. The veterinarian and his tech got the bullet out and gave you a blood transfusion." He left out the unimportant details. Where the blood came from. How Hal had convinced them to help. How he'd toyed with murder. "The tech mentioned that you may have an allergic reaction to the blood transfusion. I hope to god it's not that, but..." he reached his hand back to Dave's, resting on his shoulder, giving him what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. "...but if it's not, then I don't know what.  _Yet_." Hal turned back to the screen and the list of symptoms.  
  
Wheezing, respiratory edema, rashes. Renal failure at extremes. No blindness, not even mild vision degradation, much less total. He sighed, what else? He certainly wasn't a doctor. First aid he could do, but beyond that... Then something occurred to him.  
"Dave, do you still get an optical display from the codec?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, originally, there was a status when you recharged the codec. Does it still work?" It had been nearly a year since they had a mission of such duration or complexity that the codec's optical display even came into play. If the EMP from yesterday hadn't put most of its functions and the nanomachines out of commission...  
"I think so." He flipped on the codec and mentally flicked through settings. Sure enough, it responded to his inquiry and the present conditions. A small red '86%' popped up on the periphery of the blackness that stretched across his vision. He allowed himself a small smile. "Yup, still there." Hal gripped his hand now.  
  
"You can see it? Then... then I think we can both feel safe, you must not have damage to your optical lobe... You couldn't pick up anything if that was the case..." Hal's musings made the soldier grow slightly worried. Brain damage? Had that actually been a possibility? He gripped Hal's hand in return. "It must - it must be something in between, interrupting visual input." He turned back to his laptop and when Dave heard his stilted, one-handed typing, he regretfully gave him back his hand. Fingers flew now, typing a rhythm that echoed off the bare walls. "Optical nerves... congenital, no... poisoning, probably no... injury..."  
"Obviously." Snake cut into his musing. "I was hit in the back of the head yesterday. But why would it take so long to manifest?" Hal sighed, out of his depth.  
"I don't know. I really don't. All this," he gestured to the computer but realized the needlessness of the action, "is Greek to me. If it were something I could correct by re-programming the nanomachines, then fine, easy - I could at least get a plan in place. But is that the answer? I just don't know." He rubbed his hands across his face. Why were things spinning out of control? Wasn't it bad enough that they were fugitives in a foreign country, on the run, out of options?  
  
"Let's contact Mei Ling," Dave offered. "She may not know either, but she can reach out to people who will."  
"Can we afford to?" Hal turned back to him, voice rising in frustration. "If I contact her, that will be a blazing beacon for the military unit you fought yesterday to follow. I can't say that I didn't make any mistakes yesterday, but it was a pretty clean getaway by any standards. If we reach out to her, they'll know right where we are. There's no high bandwidth users here in the fucking middle of Manitoba! It's just us, and Dave, if they're coming after us here, I have absolutely no chance of outrunning them again I-"  
"It wasn't military, Otacon. Calm down." When had that happened? The switch had occurred imperceptibly to Hal. Dave was again the calm voice of reason, while Hal was now spiraling towards a major freak out. "It wasn't the Patriots, either. It was just some..." Dave's face morphed into pure disgust, "...nut job. Some well-financed psychopath. His crew and his base is still there, but I made sure he wasn't." His jaw tightened, remembering the innocent lives that were strewn across the cement floor like so much refuse. "If there's anyone chasing us, it's probably a dozen unorganized mercenaries who've just lost their beneficiary and their motivation for pursuing us in the first place." He blinked, dry eyes pulling at his lids. It was an utterly useless gesture, the world in front of him black and empty. "Contact Mei Ling. There's no one after us."  
  
Hal could only sit there, dumbfounded. All the needless running yesterday. The people he'd put in peril. The danger and the risks he'd taken for their sake. They could be back in their cold, dirty apartment above Ella's, not in a cabin in the middle of nowhere in Canada.  _Canada_ , for fuck's sake. He'd pushed the barrel of the gun, lying at his feet, into the face of that man, imagined plastering the walls of his office with his red brains. The brains of his wife. Been ready to shoot up the gas station, the old lady. If anyone got in his way... If anyone had been a hero... The bile crept up his throat at the possibility. And for what? For what had he risked the lives of so many strangers, the life of his partner, his dearest friend? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. A madman and his well-paid, well-equipped followers. Not even that. A dead madman.  
  
"Oh Dave, oh... I am so sorry. I dragged us up here for-" his voice caught, "for no reason." He felt Dave's comforting hand on his shoulder. How could Dave be the stronger one in a time like this? When he was injured, when Hal should be taking on the burdens, but all he was good for was falling apart.  
"You didn't know. How could you know? You did the  _right_  thing, Hal. You got us as far away as you possibly could. You didn't double back to our apartment. You kept a level head, got me medical attention and even... is that coffee?" Hal could only chuckle, a bitter, half-sound.  
"Yes. Would you like some?"  
"Hell yes. Do we have any cigarettes?" Hal got to his feet, unsteadily. His eyes were betraying him, fogging over with emotion, blurring his vision. He was worthless, as always, and Dave was cracking jokes. He dug through the bag he'd brought in from the car, finding the unopened pack. Dave could hear his rustling, jumping ahead. "Get my lighter, would you? I know promised I wouldn't smoke in the apartment, but we're not  _in_  the apartment are we?" Hal attempted a smile. Even if they were, he wouldn't deny him, given the circumstances. "It's in my suit, the pocket just below my left knee." He pulled one from the pack, placing it gently between Dave's lips.  
  
"What are we going to do for an ashtray?" Dave smirked out of one side of his mouth, moving the cigarette to the other side.  
"Does it matter?" Hal quickly found the lighter bringing the flame to the offered end. Dave took two long, deep draws. "Oh god, that's better." His whole body seemed to relax. "Coffee?"  
"What am I, your maid?" The smirk had migrated to Hal's mouth. They fell back into relaxed banter, the initial stress evaporated. He helped Dave sit up at a little bit of an angle, both pillows behind his shoulders and placed the handle of the mug into his hand.  
  
After the cigarette was extinguished, the coffee drained, and their makeshift breakfast eaten, new priorities rose. Hal had sent a quick message to Mei Ling and retrieved the majority of the incriminating goods from the car, lest a vacationing couple were to stumble upon a nondescript Subaru with a cache of firearms in the back seat and more computer hardware than the government of Uzbekistan in the front. The smeared blood on the upholstery would be a larger task for a later time. They would have to take their chances for now.  
  
"Hal? I really should get out of this suit and I um, have to take a piss." Hal was occupying the far end of the couch and turned from his laptop to look at him. Dave would need more than just to relieve himself. He really needed a wash. Neither could be properly accomplished without Hal's help. What irony - a blush that Dave could never see began to set upon his cheeks. He let it roam free and instead focused on keeping his voice even.  
"You bet. You really need to wash as well - I'll see if we have hot water." The bathroom wasn't a far walk and he turned on the faucet in the shower stall. He ran his hand under it after about thirty seconds, but it was still ice cold. "No dice. I guess I'm not surprised. At least there's running water. C'mon, let's get you on your feet." He hooked one arm over his shoulder and let Dave stand at his own pace. He stood for a minute, weaving back and forth slightly, disoriented. "Let me know if you want to sit back down."  
"No, I'm okay..." He took a step forward, and then another, slowly making his way under Hal's support and direction to the bathroom. Why was this cabin so large? The bathroom felt like it was a mile away. They finally reached the door frame and Dave leaned on it, regaining his bearings. This was an unfamiliar place, he'd never seen it, never learned the layout of the rooms. He just hung onto the door frame helplessly as Hal started undoing the straps on the suit.  
  
For Hal, his blush had spread across his face and down his neck, painting his skin a deep red. He was careful, so very careful, to move quickly, the flat or the back of his hand touching Dave's shoulders only, never his fingertips. Fingertips just seemed wrong, seemed like they would bleed his secrets out into the soldier's skin. Finally, he'd freed one arm. The right arm of the suit was cut apart to make space for the bandages on his upper bicep. There was no way to get the shoulder of the suit off around his damaged arm. Hal's mind did a quick inventory and remembered the knife that Dave kept strapped to the small of his back. He unsheathed it and began to cut through the suit from the open shoulder to the neck. Dave tensed, pulling his face away, giving the engineer room to work, to destroy the fine spider mesh of wires that he'd labored to sewn and solder in place. It had taken weeks to put it together and only a few pulls with the razor-sharp blade to take apart. Hal set down the knife and worked with the straps covering Dave's chest.  
  
This was a tedious and difficult task, the composite material held together with a patchwork of straps and non-metallic buckles. Each was cinched tight, and he had to pry with his blunt fingernails, resorting to his teeth on a few, to get them loose. 8 done, 100 to go? The puzzle seemed endless.  
"How do you even get this thing on?" he chuckled, smoothing the nervousness out of his voice. Dave laughed softly, humor traced with impatience.  
"You don't even want to know." There was a sharp intake of breath as Hal reached the last buckle above his lower abdomen. On mistake, working out of haste, propriety forgotten, his fingertips had brushed his skin and the fine dark hair trailing up towards his navel. Hal swallowed and slid the strap through the clasp, leaving the last of the tie in place while he backed behind Dave and helped him closer to the toilet. He stayed behind him, steady to center him, but his head was averted, allowing Dave at least a little dignity. Dave freed himself gratefully with his undamaged left hand. Hal could feel tension in his shoulders, but tried to focus on anything other than the smoothly muscled skin leaning against his fingertips. The fingertips which he knew were leaking emotion traitorously through his flesh.  
  
What he needed to focus on was getting back across the border, back to their apartment. He also needed to focus on establishing contact with Mei Ling. With any luck, she would reply in a few hours and give him the guidance needed to deal with Dave's blindness. He felt Dave move, rearranging the remains of his suit. "Thanks. You didn't happen to bring a change of clothes with you?" Hal scooped up the dangling left arm of the suit and wrapped it around Dave's stomach, tying it in a loose knot with the remains of the right. At least it wouldn't flop around this way. The two men shuffled back out to the living room. He was a little steadier this time, but still unbalanced and disoriented. They made better progress and soon he sat back on the couch.  
"No, sorry. But I have a jacket, so you can have my t-shirt." It was baggy on Hal, so likely it would fit Dave well. He removed his jacket and shirt, helping guide his lost outstretched arms through the short sleeves. The suit could act as pants and not draw too much attention, but in total it was just too much. The shirt, though stained with blood, helped bring some normalcy to his appearance.  
  
Hal made another small pot of coffee, Dave downed some pain killers, and then he was packing up the car, keen to get everything ready so they could get underway without hassle. The arsenal went on the floor of the back seat, a blanket procured from the cabin on top to hide it from curious eyes. The antennas, modems, and battery backups went under the blanket as well. It was still mid-morning and only two hours direct to the border, three or four with the circuitous route back that Hal was planning. To cross the border under cover of dark meant waiting to leave until late afternoon. Hal killed time by error checking his drives for potential injuries incurred during the jostling drive from N38. At first, Dave was able to sleep. The tranquilizers wafted him into restful sleep, but it only lasted a few hours. By noon he was awake and soon found there was nothing to occupy him. So he started smoking. Hal put up with it for two cigarettes, but when he reached to light up a third, he'd had it.  
  
"Listen, Dave - before you light another one... I understand you don't have anything to do, but that doesn't mean you should smoke. I'm going to get lightheaded from all the nicotine in the air." His words were lightly mocking. Dave mis-interpreted it as bitchy nagging in his anxious state.  
"Then what am I supposed to do? All I've been doing for the past hour is running through what happened yesterday. The infiltration, the conversations I heard, the - the  _fucked up things_  they were doing, and the mistakes I made on the way out. When I got in the car I blacked out. I can only analyze it so many times and I don't feel like fixating on the mutilated bodies I found. So that leaves me with smoking or going slowly insane because I can't see or do a goddamn thing!" Hal's chest grew heavy with sympathy. It caught him halfway between his lungs and his mouth, and he couldn't say anything. Nor could he think of anything to say. So he moved from his spot across the room, just on the periphery of the smoke, and sat on the couch next to him instead.  
  
"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're going through. We'll get this figured out and we'll move on to the next task. This was a bump in the road - mind you, a very big bump - but we'll sort this out and we'll start working on the next mission." Dave rolled his eyes. "I mean that. The next mission."  
"How can you be so sure? You don't even know if there is a fix for this. People don't simply go blind one day and then snap out of it the next." He turned to Hal to make his point, but he couldn't possibly lock onto his eyes. This, inadvertently, made his words cut deeper. "The conclusion you're not letting yourself reach is that this is effectively the  _end_  of Philanthropy." Hal felt his eyes getting tight, hot.  
  
"No, no you're wrong. First, whatever this is, we will find a solution. Second, something like this wouldn't be the end of our mission. What makes you think we still can't gather information, publish propaganda, and ultimately bring down the Patriots? All we need is a little light to send the cockroaches running." But his words sounded hollow, even to himself. He grabbed the laptop off the kitchen table and went back to sit with Dave on the couch. "And what do  _you_  mean, mutilated bodies?" Dave told the story, all the grotesque details, and Hal took careful notes on his computer. This wackjob probably wasn't connected with the Patriots, but it never hurt to catalog intel. He could tell that Dave was content with the attention and with something to do, even if it meant recalling the horrors of the day before. He was well acquainted with the terrible things men could do to each other - boys trained to be killers, soldiers brutalizing women and little children, blood lust in battle causing men to visit unholy barbarism on each other. Bodies ripped apart with the nonchalance and glee of Christmas morning wrapping paper.  
  
Despite his familiarity with violence, this hit home in a way that no nameless death could. He had seen the face of the teacher on the news, her bright smile, sympathized with her before he'd even known her fate. Then suddenly, he was face to face with it, with the evil that had taken her and dozens of similarly innocent people to their torturous death.  
  
Hal was pitying him - he could feel it in his voice. It made him angry, but Dave couldn't blame him, all he could do was feel sorry for himself and his current disability and worry about his future or  _lack_  thereof. He was just a ball of self-loathing, a snake eating its own tail. It was all so worthless, reeking of psycho-dynamic bullshit. His story ceased, and his voice stuck in his throat, refusing to emerge. Dave was silent for several moments, just sucking in air and trying desperately to push the feelings of insignificance and humiliation from his mind. He was utterly ashamed of himself and the awareness was pushing through his brain, clouding all other thoughts. His futile attempts to stop thinking were bringing heat to his eyes. How highly did he think of himself? People all over the world were dying,  _now_ , in various disgusting ways in an endless parade of morbidity. Worse, those living without hope, without worth, dignified only in their struggle and suffering. Who was he to complain?! Super soldier, reduced to the level of an hysteric suburban housewife complaining of the woes of middle age through one stroke of bad luck. He was  _lucky_  to have lived in excellent health for as long as he had. This was... another struggle... and his character, if he had any, would have to pull him through.  
  
"Dave? Oh my god, are you alright?" Hal's arms around him now, an awkward embrace, attention when he didn't dare deserve it. But... Were those tears trickling down his own cheeks? Dave had been so wrapped up in self-flagellation that he didn't register the tightness in his face, his throat, the pressure building up and spilling over. "Ssshh..." There were no words that Hal could say that would make it alright. He simply draped his arms delicately around Dave's battered frame, holding him, hoping empathy would radiate from his body. But calm did not come, Dave's silent tears cascaded down his cheeks. As he tried desperately to stop, his whole body shook. Hal read it as sobbing rather than internal struggle, but what was the difference, after all? Hal ran his fingers slowly through his ragged tangle of hair, desperate for some way to soothe him. This was fresh, scary territory. Soldiers did not breakdown. They did  _not_  cry.  
  
Hal's ministrations registered only on the periphery of his consciousness, but the soft near-inaudible murmurs, the proximity and safety of the hacker's arms, warm fingers stroking through his hair, finally slowed his breathing. The tears were drying into shameful trails of moisture. As Dave drifted slowly out of his fevered state, he lingered in Hal's embrace, allowing his pulse to slow. He remembered briefly, the rare times in this life when he'd acted like a weak pitiable thing, and the occasions rarer still when he'd been comforted. Once, when he was a boy, still very young - too young to lift a gun, but old enough to endure tutelage in the vicious arts. It was one of his earliest memories, nearly lost in the fog of age and distance. A female caretaker whose arms he'd been cradled in. Had he ever known her name? She was only a blur of bronze curls and warmth now. Twice, when he'd woken from a nightmare. Again, he couldn't remember it, but it involved Liquid and several forms of despairing pain and torture. He did remember waking to a dark world where he wasn't sure whether he was still dreaming. It had been the safety of his cabin in Alaska after all, and Meryl's arms had held him, shaking like a rabbit, until he fell asleep again.  
  
This third time, he was fully cognizant and resolved to etch the memory into his brain. He would not forget this. Hal's arms around him, his cheek resting on top of his head. The slight way he rocked back and forth. Dave was sure Hal was doing it unconsciously. Hal's breath was even, brushing his hair, a slow and centering rhythm. He could even feel his pulse, slowing now that his tears had stopped. And underneath it all, a scent that was uniquely Hal. He knew it, but the knowledge had never surfaced before. It was complex, warm like cornbread, earthy like almonds, and something he couldn't place. Safe. Familiar.  
  
Hal must have felt him, now calm and inquisitive. Minute muscles in Hal's chest and arms twitched.  
"Uh, ah... sorry, Dave. I must smell terrible." He pulled away quickly, detaching his arms and fingers. "Neither of us are exactly clean, sorry." The silence that crept in had become awkward for Hal. Dave was simply still, observing the aftermath calmly. He couldn't see, but he could hear the loud, dry swallows Hal was taking, the fidgeting, nails on his arm, scratching. Nagging worries piled into the back of his mind, but he contained them for now. They would get through it together. They were still a team and even if Dave's reasoning said Philanthropy stood a good chance of dissolution, they would be together. He knew it. Five minutes in Hal's arms was therapy like he'd never known. His nerves were cool, steady. A small smile split his lips.  
"Thank you." It was all that needed to be said.  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The next three hours were spent idly and while Hal crafted a meager lunch from the remains of their food, he kept his laptop on the couch. He didn't stray far and Dave was thankful for the proximity, even if he was bathed in silence. Dave's mind was working ahead now. He would let Hal map the route back to Bismarck, plan for a good balance of stealth and fuel economy. Once they returned, once they heard from Mei Ling, once they figured out this inconvenient blindness, once he was back in action... He would go back to N38. He would ensure it was decommissioned once and for all and the dead were provided justice. Dave was already planning, a list of tools in his mind. Undetected infiltration was no longer the goal. It was a containment and destruction mission. Above all, these thoughts kept him occupied while they waited for evening's approach.  
  
At long last, just as Dave was considering his impending insanity by boredom, Hal signaled it was time to move. The sun would be under the horizon in a little over two hours. He helped him out to the car awkwardly, got him settled in the passenger seat, and did one more double check over the cabin. Fingerprints and tire tracks were the only sign of their presence. It was enough to make Hal nervous, but since they were not being pursued, he tried to place his worry aside.  
  
Two laptops were on the backseat, in easy reach. Dave insisted that they have a gun in the front, and Hal conceded, but argued that it went on the driver's side. Being the logical decision, Dave agreed. He wouldn't let the scientist see the tightness in his jaw. Not now. He was aware that right now, he was reduced to mere baggage. He couldn't handle a weapon, he was just a passenger.  
  
...When would Mei Ling get their message?  
  
They were finally on their way, rolling at a brisk but prudent pace through the set of unoccupied cabins, then the ones with minivans and sedans, then to the open road. Hal watched the sun crawl across the sky over tedious hours. Dave could feel it on his right cheek, his arm. The warm presence slowly faded as the light stretched into orange, to milky red, then disappeared into cold black. They were near the Saskatchewan-Manitoba border about 2 miles from the US. The sun had set but it wasn't simply dark, it was ink black. There was nothing but fog and void all around them. No cars, no moon, no stars, just black. Hal had turned off the headlights a few minutes before. The tires left the asphalt of provincial road 251 and into the unknown mires that lay before them. Dave held his breath as he felt the car's angle deepen, rolling off the shoulder, finally leveling out onto the field.  
  
It was much different than yesterday evening. The tires fought for purchase on the slippery surface. The mud was probably only half an inch thick, but the engine fought a fraction harder to pull them along the sloppy ground. Hal tried to remember the lit image of the dash before he'd killed the lights. The tank was three-quarters full, right?  
  
The last of their cash had been used to top up at a station just outside the city of Brandon, but that was two hours ago. He had done some quick math and estimated they would coast into Bismarck with a half-gallon to spare in the tank. But now they were burning fuel faster, rubber grappling with the unplowed mud. Could he hope to arrive on fumes? Or would they be stranded? He tried to push the worry from his mind and concentrate on the task at hand.  
  
It was only four miles, but again, it felt like days,  _eons_ , were passing them by. Squinting through the windshield, he tried to anticipate any fence posts, furrows, abandoned and moldering sheds... The common detritus of this landscape which morphed into hidden landmines in the dark. It was impossible, everything was consumed by the spring fog. His pulse quickened, eyebrows knit, willing his eyes to coalesce form from the blackness. If only there were another set of eyes, helping him find his way through, picking out the one obstacle he'd surely miss. Dave was quiet beside him. He wasn't sure if he was asleep or merely waiting, listening. He could probably  _hear_  the joints in Hal's fingers as they wrapped the steering wheel in a death grip.  
  
A strange mix of anger and guilt boiled up inside him. This was all his fault, again, wasn't it? From beginning to end. And there sat Dave, passenger seat, blind and useless, helpless, crippled. God, why had he suggested they infiltrate the site in the first place? What had his desperate mind extrapolated from that blurry image so many months ago? He'd followed all those anonymous leads, spun a Metal Gear out of thin air. It wasn't his ass out there, he'd made leaps in logic, and he'd put Dave in unnecessary danger.  
  
And now, what if there was no solution? If there was no way to restore his vision? If he was permanently scarred... Hal permitted himself to clench his eyes shut for a second, anguished. Oh god, if this was how Dave would live out the rest of his life, hobbled and exiled from the world... He would  _never_  forgive himself. He certainly wouldn't expect Dave to. As much as he knew that nothing would tear him from the soldier's side, he couldn't ask the same from Dave. The days would bleed into weeks, perhaps months, but he knew their friendship would crack. Stress borne of boredom brought out the worst in them and it would turn quickly from bickering to fighting to Dave throwing him out of his life permanently. The vinyl squealed softly under his bruising grip.  
  
He let himself wallow in guilt, self-hatred. It clung to his thoughts and blurred his vision. The tires dug further into the slop with each revolution. Adding pressure to the gas pedal made it worse. The tires gripped and spun, gripped and spun. If you wanted to run the argument to its logical conclusion - and Hal certainly did - then he was responsible for the mess  _in entirety_. Who had designed the behemoth they chased? Doctor Frankenstein at his fucking best. He was so utterly culpable for all of this. He alone was responsible for the life that sat next to him, every decision they made, every bad piece of intel. It would be fitting if they were stuck out here, gas drained by the unquenchable mud, Subaru spreadeagled over the border, waiting for dawn and the eager gaze of a satellite to mark them fugitives.  
  
In his vibrant depression, Hal almost missed the parked tractor that loomed out of the night. The tire tread pattern caught his eyes out of the mist, maybe ten feet before impact, and he swerved to miss it. The traction control bit at the rear wheels before they could slide too far. Thank god Dave had suggested all wheel drive. He vowed that if he wasn't alone on his sorry ass in two weeks, as he expected, that he would let Dave make every single decision from here on out.  
  
Through will alone, Hal eased the Subaru through the mud and back onto pavement, stateside. They were now traveling on main roads. About an hour left. Hal stretched his wrists, craned his neck back and forth until it popped. He dared to take a peak at the fuel gauge and immediately regretted it. It was just below a quarter. He was tempted to urge the car on faster, but knew that was a sure route to being stuck on the side of the highway, easy prey for local law enforcement to stop, inspect the car, the bloody backseat, the contents of the trunk... He let the car slip from 60 to 54. Conservation was key. His stomach grumbled in protest, remembering their last decent meal. It had been two days ago. Two days - it was draining just thinking about all the miles they'd put on, the things they'd both done... He would be so glad to return to their apartment, turn up the thermostat, sink into his bed and just drift off to sleep, safe. That thought drove him on.  
  
It was about 5 miles before their apartment when the engine started to hesitate. It coughed, then regained its sturdy purr. Good girl, Hal cooed. Another mile passed and it paused,  _paused_ , then caught again. God, they were scraping the bottom of the tank. The gauge was past empty now. At this distance, they could walk, but god he didn't want to. He silently willed the car on, cajoling it, murmuring under his breath. Good car, you've made it this far, just a little bit more now. You can do it. Another mile and it choked, coasting a few feet, Hal's foot wildly interacting with the gas pedal, forcing a few drops more into the cylinders. Come on, you bastard. You worthless piece of shit. It went on like this until Ella's was within view, Hal dreaming up words of increasing vulgarity to spur the car on. The open sign was off, no cars out front.  
  
Hal signaled to turn into the wide alley behind the building. The engine shuddered in a death rattle, he eased it into neutral, and it died.  
"Good car, good car, oh thank you. You beautiful machine." He leaned over to kiss the dash lightly. He sat there for half a minute, collecting himself, willing his pulse back to normal, exhaling the adrenaline from his veins. Hal reached out to nudge Dave awake but paused, making sure he was aware of his presence first, lest he startle him and end up with a broken nose. "Dave? Dave wake up, we're- we're back." His lips wanted to form the word 'home', but it wasn't right. This wasn't home. His own home had long ago been corrupted and he'd scarified his mind of that concept. And Dave never truly had a home. Perhaps his cabin in Alaska, but it wasn't for Hal to ponder. He slowly reached over and tapped his elbow. Lamp light from the street was relatively dim, but it was enough to see Dave's eyelids twitch, coming around.  
"Bismarck?" His eyes opened, unfocused.  
"Yep. No one's around, let's get inside."  
  
Getting up the stairs together was awkward. Getting all the equipment inside, unnoticed, was nothing short of a chore. Hal piled the last of the bags by the door. The laptops could be unpacked later. The guns could be cleaned later. For now, they would sit in a heap. The first priority was getting both men cleaned. Hal accomplished this in an effective, reasonably dignified manner. Dave would have to take a bath. He drew the water for him, added some soap, and got him to the point where Dave could easily remove his own pants with one hand, keep the bandaged one out of the water, and simply soak.  
He occupied himself with getting at least one computer reconnected, scanning the hardware for signs of defect or sabotage, and checking for communication from Mei Ling. Nothing.  
  
"Hal? Little help?" He was at the bathroom door immediately. Dave had gotten out, dried, but couldn't tie the towel around his waist one-handed. He held it shut awkwardly. The enticing expanse of moistened skin from his neck to his navel stalled Hal for a beat.  
"Uh, yeah, be right back." Dave didn't own a robe, was too manly for it. Hal's light blue Ultraman one would have to suffice. "Robe," was the simple explanation upon his return. Dave feigned a wince and turned around, dropping the towel to free his hands.  
"Oh, god, it's not that  _robot_  one, is it?" Concentrate Hal, concentrate. He tore his eyes from the magnificently curving flesh which flexed with every small movement. His skin was a living being, undulating from his shoulder blades, down the fine, precise line of his vertebrae, toned buttocks, thighs of cabled muscle. His fingertips ached to touch.  
"Ha ha, no, it's olive drab, army surplus, super manly." He kept his tone light out of sheer willpower. His voice almost cracked. Hal put his arms around his waist, knotted the tie snugly, then withdrew.  
  
Should he help Dave back to the couch? No, no, he knew this apartment and could find it on his own. Any further charity would be an insult, though his heart clenched as Dave shuffled out of the bathroom, good left arm in front, waving slowly, warding off any unexpected obstacles which threatened to lunge at him from his blackened world.  
Hal showered quickly and was back at the computer, putting on an auto-refresh to check for news from Mei Ling. All else was silence. As he moved from task to task, his attention never strayed from the screen. He circled it, like a desperately hungry hyena, waiting for an opening from its prey, waiting for something, anything, to break the tension.  
  
While he waited, Dave tried to adapt to his new circumstances. All the small and unimportant tasks became burdensome chores. Walking to the kitchen was easy enough. Finding the cabinet with glasses was simple, needing only two guesses before he got it right. He felt for the refrigerator door handle and then the obvious cardboard ridges of the orange juice carton. Pouring... that was trouble. Liquid splashed onto the counter top at first try. He swore. Everything would be difficult now, right? Returning the juice to the fridge, he had to feel for the dishrag, feel the counter top afterward to be sure he got it all. Then the trek back to the couch, whereupon he stubbed his toes with force on the corner.  
"Son of a bitch!" He plopped heavily onto the cushions, rubbing his foot in the carpeting to dull the sensation. When he got up to use the bathroom a few minutes later, Hal stole into the kitchen, grabbed the rag, and wiped up the juice circles from the coffee table.  
  
The remainder of that evening and the next day followed in the same fashion. Dave would bumble through routine tasks, catch his fingers in drawers, stub his toes on chair legs, and Hal would silently follow after, cleaning up the unseen disaster in his wake. Hal was gradually getting better at this morbid game. In between bouts of glaring at the computer screen, he tidied up around their flat. The garbage can was jutting dangerously out from the wall - he pushed it back. The equipment from the car had been left in haste near the door. He sorted and stacked everything up in its proper place and as much against the far wall as possible. He stole into Dave's bedroom and grabbed all the shoes and discarded clothing from the floor. So many objects waiting patiently to trip the blinded soldier. Several times, Hal had to grab the Lysol and a paper towel from the kitchen and clean up the toilet and adjacent tile after Dave had exited. Lack of sight meant lack of aim. Hal said nothing, preferring silence and subterfuge over the certainty of humiliating him.  
  
The one thing Hal could enjoy about his new responsibility was caring for Dave. He was okay navigating the apartment, feeding himself, but needed someone to take his clothes across the street to the laundromat. Laundry was nothing but a drudge before, but now he appreciated the time apart and the chance to handle and fold all of Dave's things. It was a sick little obsession if he stopped to think about it, which he did frequently, but that didn't prevent him from doing it regardless.  
  
He managed well enough in the shower, even with one arm injured, but needed help with a razor. Dave didn't trust himself enough to shave, so Hal volunteered. The soldier insisted on lathering himself at first, but he always missed spots, smeared the foam, and generally made a horrible mess of it. His pride suffered a blow, but what did it matter when it was in tatters as it was? Hal stayed silent through the daily ritual, cataloging the feel of his skin as he held his chin, the thrilling movement of the blade over his adam's apple, under his lips. Despite the tragedy of the situation, it was terribly erotic and Hal found himself planning his own shower conveniently afterward.  
  
However, Dave could help with the dishes. Hal's task quickly became collecting the myriad plates, cups, bowls, that accumulated over the day. Dave ran the water, creating a mound of suds in the sink. His fingers sought out all the crusted food particles on the dirty dishes, scrubbing and scrubbing until he could feel they were spotless. Hal rinsed and dried them and put them away. The clean smell of soap permeated the room, making the silence between them companionable, comforting. This wasn't pity, this was teamwork. Dave felt slightly less of a burden and Hal, for a time, felt slightly less guilty.  
  
All those feelings returned when they shared dinner. That first night, Hal fried a few hamburger patties and assembled the meal. The TV was turned on to fill the silence, but Dave blocked it out, appeal largely gone without his vision. It had no hope of distracting Hal, but he left it on, an improvement over the echoing emptiness. As Hal gathered their plates to return to the kitchen, he noticed ketchup remnants smeared across Dave's chin.  
"Uh, you've got-" Unspoken words lodged in his throat. What was the point? He couldn't see it to remove it. He couldn't see a goddamned thing. His eyes burnt. "Hold on." He wet his napkin on his tongue and gently grasped Dave's chin. The muscles underneath his fingers froze, realizing yet another depth to his enfeeblement. Hal cleaned his cheek and gathered up the plates again.  
"Thanks."  
The TV droned on in the background while Hal retreated to the kitchen. He turned on the tap to let the frying pan soak and to let the sound of the water drown out his quiet sobs.  
  
  
***  
  
  
For the next two days Hal occupied himself by repairing the mangled sneaking suit. Dave would need it again eventually, right? Dave occupied himself with books via mp3 - a brilliant suggestion by Hal. He'd gotten through Heart of Darkness and got a good start on Rainbow Six. He'd lifted weights with his left arm. Lost track of the reps just so he could start again.  
Still nothing from Mei Ling.  
  
Hal buckled swiftly on the matter of cigarettes. There was no way he could deny him. He'd placed him in this mess to begin with. Hal helped him out to the landing the first few times, and then gave in and just let him smoke in the living room.  
  
After half a pack was gone his nerves were raw. Apathy gnawed at Dave. The bickering began anew and each comment was answered with brutal quickness.  
"Hmm, what to eat? I think I'll have some stale soup crackers and mayonnaise. Delicious."  
"You want me to go out, or be here to wait for Mei Ling?"  
"Christ. What are we doing waiting on her again?"  
"I can't figure it out by myself, Dave, there are too many risks. Would you like to give it a try? Computer's all yours." Followed quickly by: "...sorry."  
On it went, even though each man felt growing contrition with each word. Mincing comments about the proliferation of anime dvd's, loud repugnant coughing from the smoke, cigarette ashes consistently missing the ashtray. Then the last box of cereal miraculously disappeared from the kitchen. Dave didn't doubt it was somewhere in plain sight, just for the irony.  
  
Finally, the auto-refresh brought a short message with a secure video link. Mei Ling's pleasant, smiling face lit up the screen a few moments later, but her eyes were lined with worry.  
"Otacon? How are you? How's the big guy?" Hal heard an audible exhale behind him.  
"Mei Ling, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice." Sounds of struggling behind him, but Hal knew he could make it under his own power. She hadn't delivered more than a salutation, but the tension in the air evaporated.  
"Ah, a day of sorrow is longer than a month of joy." Hal smiled broadly and got up from his chair, letting Dave sit.  
"It feels like a month. How have you been? Are you okay? Did you have a chance to check out the the data, symptoms, we sent?"  
  
"One question at a time. I've been... occupied. But I'm okay. I checked out the info, and I came to the same conclusion you did. It's not lobe damage, it's something else."  
"Yes, but what? Do you have any ideas to point us in the right direction?" The strain in Dave's voice did not translate over the connection. She continued unabated.  
"Well, at best it could be a temporary neurologic issue, damage to the optical nerve. The US military did research into combat injuries involving optical nerves in the late 80s. Project Horus. In some minor cases, the neural pathways rebuilt themselves in as little as a week. In others, the synapses never sufficiently grew back..." there was a collective pause on both ends of the line. "Other causes are damage to the orbital socket or the eyes. In your case, indirect trauma. The retinas could have torn and then detached, which would explain why the effects weren't immediate. We covered damage to the optical lobe, and not that it matters but there are a few treatment options - invasive, but- ...You said the codec is still visible, right?" Dave murmured in assent.  
  
"That was Otacon's first question. It still works."  
"Good. That's great. That knocks out the worst possibilities." Mei Ling paused, flipping through her notes. "It could be an exposure reaction, toxicity, but without use of medical facilities, I don't know how we'd test that one. You haven't had any related symptoms, Snake? Think hard." He paged back in his mind over the last week. Running on empty, sheer adrenaline. Tension between the two of them, headaches. Local pain from the healing gunshot wound. He'd suffered too many of those in his life and knew that the itching at the site was normal. It didn't smell of infection or other foreign matter. When Hal re-bandaged it, he didn't mention swelling or discoloration that was anything but normal.  
"No, not that I can think of. No stomach cramps, joint pain, no memory lapses, speech isn't effected. But I do have an odd craving for sugary cereal and cigarettes."  
"Ha. ha. Okay, but keep an eye on him, Otacon. If it does appear to be poisoning, even if the onset is delayed, he must go to a hospital for testing." Hal nodded tightly.  
  
"The last one - and you'll have to forgive me Snake - but it could be psychological. There's no good way to test it outside of therapy, so we should discount it until the other possibilities are eliminated."  
"Agreed. What's the next step?"  
"The next step is checking the condition of your eyes." Her gaze broke for a moment, fingers hitting a few quick keystrokes. "Otacon, I just sent you details on how to check for retinal tears and detachment and a few other tests we should do. I don't have any suggestions on where to obtain hyoscyamine other than knocking over pharmacies. I could get you some, but..." Her eyes shifted slightly. "I'm pretty far away. Otacon, and I mean this sincerely, don't use simple atropene to dilate his eyes. It can take days to wear off rather than hours."  
"Got it."  
"Take care, both of you. Contact me if you run into trouble."  
"Thank you, Mei."  
"And Snake, hang in there. Jade is not polished without rubbing, nor a man perfected without trials." That earned two small smiles and then the connection was severed.  
  
The tension was gone. They both had things to analyze, discuss. Equipment to gather. They could work as a team. The first step, as Mei Ling has suggested, was to check the function of his iris sphincter muscles. That one was easy. While he retrieved a flashlight and darkened the room, Dave sat and rested his head against the back of the couch. Hal knelt beside him, holding his eyelids open gently with his fingers, moving the flashlight back and forth. As hoped, his pupils constricted and dilated, constricted and dilated. Good. One down.  
  
The next step was checking for retinal detachment. This was more involved. Hal wasn't keen on demanding drugs and equipment from people at gunpoint, not again... Hospitals and pharmacies were out. The best option, as before, was a humble vet clinic. One which was not open 24 hours. One which he could infiltrate, secure the necessary tools, and slip away without a trace. But this was clearly not his arena. This was Snake, this was his domain, where he fit into the equation. The irony lay heavy on his shoulders. Dave was injured and his treatment lay in the hands of the most stealth-deficient man on the planet. But there was no use worrying about it now, they needed to plan and execute quickly.  
  
Dave chose to ignore the trepidation he heard in his voice, instead instructing him how to pick the lock on the ammo chest. If Hal simply shot off the lock on the door of the clinic, there was still a locked case inside containing the controlled substances. One gunshot would alert everyone to their presence. Two would bring the police with all haste and fury.  
  
Blindness didn't stop Dave from picking the lock with ease. He set his jaw and extended his right arm. God, it was still sore. The muscles hadn't yet knit back together and the tendons scraped raw as he moved. He gingerly took Hal's hands in his, guiding the tools in the slot. Showed him how to feel for the minute grooves, the springs which held the bolt shut. The pins slid free and the clasp popped open. Dave clicked it back into place with his good hand.  
"Good. Again."  
It was frustrating work at first. So unlike the simple lock on the cabin door that he'd forced with his driver's license. After 15 minutes of struggling, he gave up, and Dave showed him again. The next attempt ended in success. A bright smile lit up his face. Dave knew it was there, and grinned back. “Good job.” He smacked the device closed. "Again."  
  
After the ammo box was thwarted successfully a dozen times, Dave locked him out of the apartment. He could hear him on the other side of the door, struggling, focused. Eight minutes. Click. The door opened.  
"Good job, Hal.  _Really_." He closed the door in his face.  
After several additional attempts, his speed was up. A minute. Dave let him back in and Hal retrieved the cereal box from its clandestine spot atop the refrigerator. Dave enjoyed a bowl and two cigarettes, companionable silence returning as they ate.  
  
In the afternoon, a search began. Hyoscyamine, as it turned out, was a fairly common drug. A simple browser search netted 10 vendors in the state that manufactured it. They could get it right from the source, but doubtless pharmaceutical factories would be heavily guarded in comparison to a lone clinic. As for the latter, there were 9 different facilities in Bismarck alone. Two were twenty-four hour emergency clinics. Of the remaining seven, three were downtown, three in heavily populated suburban areas, and one nested at the crux of two highways, where industrial parks met farmland. A large animal practice. Perfect. They would have ample supplies on hand. Dave started rattling off a shopping list of sorts.  
  
"If you see it, grab some morphine. Lidocaine, too if they have it. Actually, I know they've got ketamine, we could use that too. Well... why don't you grab a pen, Hal?" The sound of shuffling, then the tell-tale click of a ballpoint. "Epinephrine would come in really handy, and I think we ought to grab some dopamine if it's on hand. It's a veterinary clinic, so how about the usual amoxicillin, penicillin, erythromycin..."  
"Any other requests?" Hal arched an eyebrow, but it was lost on Dave.  
"Rabies vaccines? I don't know. That's all I can think of."  
"Mei Ling said not to get atropene to dilate your eyes, but isn't that the same stuff soldiers carry with them to use in case of nerve gas attack?"  
"Yeah, and it's an antidote for other types of poison too. Grab some of that while you're at it." Hal smiled softly. Yes sir, Dr Snake.  
  
Next, equipment prep. Hal didn't think a gun was necessary, but Dave insisted. "Better to have it and not need it-"  
"Than need it and not have it. ...Fine.” He sighed. “Where's the holster?"  
Hal quickly found the shoulder holster at Dave's instructions in his room. He put it on, letting nimble fingers adjust the straps for him. Hal knew how to use a weapon. At least, he knew how to chamber a round, aim proficiently, and not let the recoil spoil his next shot. He hadn't gotten the hang of switching magazines. His hands weren't small, but his thumb just wasn't deft enough to hit the magazine release accurately each time. But there would be no need to change magazines for this mission. They weren't planning on a firefight. Oh, heaven help him if it turned into a firefight! He let his pulse settle back to normal. No, this was get in, go shopping, get the hell out.  
  
A mission. That's what it was, after all. And now it was time. Hal's hands shook while he laced his hiking boots. The sneakers would probably provide better traction, but they were white, visible. Maybe it didn't even matter, but Hal preferred to fill his mind with choices, decisions, even the most banal if it meant not thinking about all the possibilities for disaster that could erupt over the next few hours. He had on his black turtleneck, holster over that, olive drab messenger bag hanging on the doorknob. All he owned were lounge pants and jeans, so he unlaced the boots, snuck back into Dave's room and borrowed a pair of black fatigues. The soldier's eyebrows were raised when he came back into the living room, soundlessly. Well, nearly.  
"Pants," he explained. Then into his room for a belt, then back out to the living room to make sure his wireless headset had charged.  
  
"Deep breath, Hal. Nothing to this." Dave's voice was even and deep. He forced himself to stop in mid stride, breathing in and out through his nostrils.  
"Nothing to it. Sure." Headset charged, Glock in holster, safety on. Was it? He checked again. Safety on. He checked the connection between the laptop and the headset, satisfied it worked, and shut it back off.  
"Let's go over it again. Keep your mind focused." Hal sat down on the couch next to Dave.  
"Okay. Once past it to check for security guards or police. Then park the car, pick the lock, find the cabinet with the drugs, pick that. Get back outside, in the car, drive around for 30 minutes, then back here."  
"Good. Remember, there might be security or police cars in the parking lots of nearby businesses. Scan everything when you drive through. Make a mental note of each car.  _Each_  car. Is that a threat? Yes or no." He heard Hal sigh deeply next to him, raggedly. "If you don't get the lock on the first try, don't worry. Calm down and try again. Once you're inside, ignore all distractions. Barking dogs, beeping machines. Find the cabinet, that's your only goal."  
"Find the cabinet," he repeated. "Got it."  
  
"When you're back out, force yourself to drive slowly, normally, as you would any other time. I know - it's not easy to do. You're keyed up, your foot hits the gas, and either it's not in gear and it revs or it is and you burn rubber on the way out. Be smooth. If you act calm, you will be calm."  
"Calm. Right. Be calm." His knuckles popped, one at a time. Dave's big hand rested on top of his clenched fists.  
"Otacon, look at me." Dave's unfocused gaze really didn't soothe him as Hal caught his eyes. "You can do this. I know you can. We've been in bad situations before and you've pulled through. Remember that time in Ankara? Pitch black, GPS out of juice, jeep out of gas, soldiers on both sides. But we managed to find a place to bunk down for the night. And you jury-rigged that electrical converter to get our equipment running and get us out of there." Hal scoffed.  
  
"Yes, but that was me and you - that was us at full tilt, no complications, no injuries. Certainly not me on my own, you out of commission."  
"Yes, but this is North Dakota, not the Middle East. And we've been doing this for years. You're not the same timid anime geek that I first met. Look at you- I mean..." Dave stumbled for words without his sight and instead wrapped his thumb and index finger around Hal's arm. There was no way he could encircle his bicep. "This is muscle, Otacon. You've earned it, you've sweat for it, shed blood for it. You can do this. You've grown, changed."  
"But I'm not a solider, Dave. I'm nothing like you, I'm not strong, or quick or even decent enough to keep myself alive in the field."  
"You got me out of that bunker, didn't you? And I'll be here, on the other end of the line. I promise."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Thirty minutes later Hal found himself, stomach clenching, hands wrapped around the steering wheel driving down a divided road. The streetlights were spaced widely apart, tall. The light barely pierced the night and dimly lit the road. Everything was washed in sepia hues. He drove past the vet clinic, slowly, at the posted speed limit. There was a car across the street next to a metal building. Storage, machine shop? Something. It was a tan sedan, nothing special. Hal concentrated. No one was in it. Not a threat. The next parking lot was attached to a warehouse. A few trailers parked outside, no trucks attached. No cars, no security.  
"Otacon, anything?" Dave's voice crackled through the connection.  
"Minimal. One car at another building, one outside the target. Blue minivan." No one in it. Not a threat. Not yet, at least.  
"Keep driving. Check back in fifteen minutes."  
  
Hal explored the countryside, straight never-ending strips of pavement. No corners, barely a stop sign. He made a u-turn in the middle of an intersection and headed back to the clinic.  
"Snake?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Car is still there." Unmistakable, it was the same blue minivan. The tan car at the building across the street was gone, but someone was still at the clinic. It was eleven at night. His stomach clenched again.  
"Calm down." Dave read the slight trepidation in his voice. "Keep driving. Someplace different this time. Check back in thirty minutes." The connection was cut and Hal was dropped back into his silent world.  
  
Oh, god, what was he going to do? He couldn't just keep driving around all night?! What happened if the van was still there when he got back? He'd re-filled the gas tank yesterday, so there was no need to stop, no need to complicate things. He had his jacket in the back if he needed it, but with his luck, the most oblivious gas station attendant would spot his concealed shoulder harness, the gun, and out would come a shotgun and off would come his head. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. It felt so odd around his arms, over his shoulder blades. He knew he carried himself differently, unused to the feel, the off-balance weight. His stomach started doing flip flops, so he rolled down the window and turned on the radio softly. It was Sunday night and his fingers stabbed at the controls, changing it from country music to a fervored evangelist to political talk radio and then back to country. It would serve to distract him as he headed back into the city, taking unfamiliar streets to eat up time.  
  
A car wash. Police station. Library. A few bars. Some cryptic establishment with blacked out windows and pink neon signs. A tractor dealership. A grain elevator. Then back out into the country. The canopy of night held back by the street lights swept down upon him and only his headlights pierced the gloom. They caught the shining eyes of a few animals. Coyotes, probably. The car sped by and they vanished. He was left with the night and a lonesome cowboy singing over his lost love.  
  
 _'If you're worrying over me like I've worried over you  
Don't do it darling, don't do it darling  
If you think I'm missing you and I'm missing kissing you  
Don't do it darling, don't do it darling'_  
  
The guitar was so sad, the voice so lost. Hal's mind was a jumble of warring thoughts, emotions. His stomach was all nerves, eyes scanning the featureless dark. His fingers itched over the steering wheel, coiled energy needing an outlet. The fog crouched again at the edge of the road, waiting for a chance to strike. He slowed down, did a three point turn, and headed back toward the city. The fog inched away now, and slowly a few stars peeked out from behind clouds. Beautiful pinpoints of light. They were soon lost in the haze of sodium street lights.  
  
Back into the industrial park. He hesitated to bring his eyes to the parking lot, knowing the van would still be there. The parking lot across the street was still empty. With effort, he forced his pupils to the vet clinic. Empty. He let out a great sigh, fingers relaxing from their vice grip on the wheel.  
"Oh thank you sweet jesus."  
He turned off the radio, the cowboy's voice had been replaced by another, just as sad and lonely and desperate. There was no time for poetry now. He had to be focused. And  _calm_.  
  
Hal turned the car gently into the parking lot. No one was around. The street was deserted, the clinic dark. He flicked the key and the engine shuddered to a halt. Leave the key in the ignition. Good idea. He congratulated himself with a half smile. Off came his glasses and he slipped on the ski mask. Wouldn't do to be caught on camera. His glasses fit back on his head awkwardly, but the stems were pinned between the heavy fabric and his head - uncomfortable but functional. He gathered his tools from the passenger seat and opened the door. The air was heavy and still. No sound, even whispers of wind were muted. The rural fog was softly trailing into the city and the heavy humidity that heralded its arrival silenced everything. His footsteps on the pavement felt heavy, thudding. Hal squared his shoulders, and positioned the picks in the lock. He didn't get it on the first try. He was still stuck three minutes later and his heart was pounding, fingers shaking. He removed his tools and forced his hands to his sides.  
  
"Calm down." Hal dragged a deep breath into his lungs. That felt better, but he had to work quickly. So much was riding on this. If he was spotted now... Oh god... Another deep breath. He furrowed his brow and resumed working. Suddenly, the tools seemed to fit, seemed to show him where the pins were, how to manipulate the device. It was one, two, three and he held the tools in one hand and twisted the knob with the other. The deadbolt slid from the jamb in a slick, satisfying motion. But there was little time to congratulate himself. He dropped the tools in his bag, entered, and went to work.  
  
Hal felt for the light switch and the room was bathed in greenish fluorescent light. His eyes darted from object to object. Various big pieces of equipment - a floor scale, a few freezers, what looked like an industrial centrifuge, but little else. One door was marked with a radioactive sticker - x ray bay. He moved quickly to the second, which led to a short corridor and spilled out into the reception area. He backtracked and tried all the doors littered along the hallway. Bathroom. Examination room. Another hallway, he'd try that later. Office. Rather than bypassing it, he entered and his eyes quickly scanned the room. The furnishings were spartan, what little could be seen under the stacks of paper and boxes of supplies. There were at least five cartons of new syringes. He didn't stop to count, instead scooping them in great handfuls into his bag.  
  
Hal turned back to the door and spotted a small white cabinet against the wall. A cabinet with a big-ass lock on it. Jackpot? He dug his tools out from the bottom of the bag and started. In less than half a minute he'd assessed it was similar to the lock on the ammo box he'd practiced on. The bolt popped with a satisfying click and opened to reveal its treasure. Yes, this was the controlled substances cabinet, but it was practically bare. There were a few rows of neatly sorted brown bottles and a cluster of pills on the second shelf. Hal felt the bile start to creep back up his throat. There was a very real chance that what they needed wasn't here. His fingers floated over the bottles, pushing them out of the way to read the next. Lidocaine. Phenylbutazone. Pergolide. Sulfamethoxazole. Way at the back was a bottle of atropene. But no epinephrine, no dopamine, and certainly no hyoscyamine. He double checked, eyes racing over the labels. He even checked the clear bottles of pills. Nothing.  
  
"Shit, shit, shit!" He grabbed the counter top, leaning on it, shutting his eyes for a moment. This was not good. Was there another cabinet somewhere? The likeliest places - the exam rooms, the office - he'd already checked. They wouldn't keep it in the reception area and they certainly wouldn't keep it in x ray. He slammed his fist against the counter top, then immediately regretted it. Pain shot up his arm and his hand throbbed.  _Calm down_. Hal took two deep breaths and stuffed two bottles of lidocaine and atropene into his bag. He didn't bother closing the cabinet or shutting off the lights. They would know in the morning that they'd been robbed. There was no need to take the time to cover his tracks.  
  
Hal tried the second hallway just to be sure, but that only ended in the kennel area. There was space for a dozen animals at least, but only two were filled. One dog continued to sleep and the other gazed at him with dopey interest. He shut the lights off and made his way back out. He checked the first room one more time, but the same equipment stared back at him, mockingly. There was nothing else. Great. They'd picked the one clinic in the city plainly going out of business, and now they were stealing from them, making things worse. Hal felt guilt tug at his stomach, but he pushed it aside for now.  
  
His head poked around the outside door tentatively. The night was just as empty and still as he'd left it. He shut the door securely, placed his too-light bag on the passenger seat, and started the car. He was lucid enough to take the ski mask from his head, but he didn't remember Dave's advice - be calm. His foot landed heavily on the gas and he skidded out of the parking lot, tires squeaking in protest.  
"Fuck! Fuck!" He squeezed the steering wheel tightly, only vaguely aware of the world around him. This was a colossal failure. So he'd risked himself, risked blowing Philanthropy's cover, and for what? Some cheap plastic syringes and a measly couple bottles of chemicals. He didn't notice his speed and he didn't notice the car behind him. Headlights crept closer and closer. If Hal was doing 50 in a 35, then it was doing 60. When the headlights in his rear view mirror finally penetrated his consciousness, he realized it wasn't a car. It was a big black Humvee.  
  
His eyes grew wide and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. What the fuck?  
Okay, Emmerich, don't panic. Just some drunk out for a joyride. Right? It wasn't a police car at least and with that thought Hal released the gas, letting the car coast back down towards the speed limit. He'd let this yahoo get pulled over, but he sure wasn't about to. It was a wide boulevard, so Hal moved over to the right hand lane to let him pass. The headlights moved as well, following him to the right and getting larger and larger. What? Only two thoughts ran through his brain as the car's speed didn't drop. Confusion and blinding fear. With half a thought to ensure his seat belt was on, Hal punched the accelerator. But the little boxer engine wasn't fast enough. The grill of the Hummer came crashing against the rear of his car, throwing him against the steering wheel, throwing everything from the seats to the floor. The engine screamed with Hal's panic, jumping up to the red line. What the fuck?!  
  
Half of his mind still pondered if the driver was drunk, but that portion was silenced as a 9 mm round pierced the rear window, exiting the windshield with a delicate pattern of cracks.  
"Holy shit!" It was all instinct then, and Hal twisted the car onto a side street before the next round could find his skull. He didn't have any brave, petty thoughts about firing back, or trying a daring move to slip behind them and take out one of their tires, or trying to ram them and throw them into some glorious stationary object. No, his only thought was speed and deftness. The little Subaru was more nimble, had a lower center of gravity. He would slip through the side streets and lose them in tight turns. Maybe. It was all he could hope for.  
  
He saved half a thought for calling Dave on the headset, but that dissolved when another bullet rang out, demolishing his driver side mirror. They'd fired wide, but it was still a hell of a shot with the way Hal was careening through every intersection. A  _hell_  of shot. Who were these guys? His thoughts immediately raced to the Patriots, but they hadn't gotten a look at his face, only the car. The car! Those fucking wackos from N38? It had to be, but how? Snake said he'd cut off the head, killed the men responsible. That no one was after them. But who else could it be? Here, in North Dakota of all places! This wasn't Iran, it wasn't North Africa, it was pedestrian Bismarck. Another shot, but it was wide and it missed the car completely.  
  
It had to be them, and the thought of what would happen to him if he was caught raced down his spine like ice water. Dave said there were mutilated bodies. Death would be a lucky end if they caught him. He could feel their rage radiating out from the Humvee. Spurned, base defiled, plans derailed. Now they'd spotted the Subaru that had whisked away the solitary man who'd destroyed it all, and they weren't going to let it get away. They would have vengeance on the driver. Make him lead them to the man responsible. And they  _would_  make him. He had no pretentious assumptions that he would hold out under torture, or even the threat of torture. They would get to Dave and wreak cold revenge on them both.  
  
Hal knew all this with certainty, and he channeled his fear through the accelerator. The buildings got closer together and businesses turned into residences. One brain cell flickered with the thought of stray gunfire hitting some innocent in their bed. The rest were devoted to measuring his velocity precisely, allowing maximum speed in each turn. But the Hummer remained firmly in his rear view mirror. He saw the headlights bouncing up and down. He was taking the corners, but they were slicing over the curbs and sidewalks on the inner apex. Smoothing the turn into a near straight. Shit! How was he supposed to put distance between them? Did he even stand a chance of getting away? Then one thought flickered into his mind. The police station. Maybe he could lose them there. Maybe he would get lucky and a policeman would latch onto the hulking black vehicle and pull them over. It was the only chance he had, even if it wasn't very good.  
  
He remembered its approximate location from earlier that night. At the next intersection, he took it wide, swinging the car's nose to the right, then viciously yanking at the emergency brake and cranking the wheel to the left. He didn't expect the maneuver to work like it did in Initial D. The back end slid out in a perfect arc and the Subaru did an about face while the black vehicle sped past, trying to compensate for his quick turn. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and he knew his worst fears were true. There were at least four bodies, black BDUs, automatic weapons. The front passenger seat was occupied by a man whose arms swung even now, in slow motion, carrying a small sidearm and tracing Hal's trajectory with the muzzle. But he was on the gas. The bullet shattered the rear window, missing him. He saw the headlights go out of focus as the driver slammed on the brakes, doing a wide u-turn to stay on top of him.  
  
They weren't so close now. He kept the car at the ragged edge, pistons screaming as went from second to third to fourth in quick succession. He didn't spare a glance at the speedometer, but knew he had to be topping 70 with the way the houses sped and blurred together. Intersection, stop sign, brake, turn, vicious acceleration. He couldn't let them get a straight bead on him or it would all be over. Finally, the houses cleared and he sped past the line of bars, the library. The police station was a few blocks ahead. Oh, and the glorious stop light! He'd forgotten all about it!  
  
Hal's senses were on overload and his peripheral vision caught the red light of the opposing road, the flickering 'walk' sign. The light would be changing soon. He slowed down against his screaming instincts and let them catch up. There was a patrol car sitting on the side of the road. Can't get picked up now. But would they blow their cover? It was a dangerous game of chicken. The speed limit was 25 and he decelerated to a meager 31. The headlights of the Hummer exploded in his mirror. God, they were close! A policeman leaned against his car, smoking languidly in the night air. Perfect, perfect, time it right... His heart thudded in his chest and he glared at the green light, begging it to change. He was less than 200 feet away and it turned, amber light washing the pavement. Hal sighed raggedly. This had to work.  
  
The Subaru inched towards the intersection and breached the crosswalk just as the light turned red. He saw the headlights on the Hummer dive, squealing to a stop. The policeman glanced disinterestedly at the occupants. It was working! He briskly turned a corner and poured on the speed. Distance. Distance. The light would change back soon, but he would be gone. He had to be, that was his one and only chance.  
  
The car screamed up an octave and the houses blurred again. They had to be gone. He made a few more superfluous turns and then started back for the apartment. He had to find some cover for the car. If he parked it in the alley again, and they scoured the city - as he knew they would - they would be found in a heartbeat. He and Dave couldn't disappear as swiftly as they had before. Two men could have that apartment cleaned out in 30 minutes and be ghosts, but one man, the other blinded? No way. He was a few blocks away from Ella's, senses still on overdrive, and he spotted it. The perfect little disused warehouse. Metal siding was rusting, windows busted out. He could hide the car here for now. They could torch it later and find another.  
  
Hal parked the car, gathering his picks from the floor where they'd scattered and jumped out to make short work of the lock on the chain. The chain fell and he slid the rusting doors open. God, the noise was fantastic! He winced, gritting his teeth, pretending the sound didn't pierce the night air with an agonizing voice. He parked the car inside, gathered everything - jacket, bag, syringes, mask, bottles - shut the car off, closed and locked the warehouse. He was just mad enough that he chuckled as he clicked the lock shut. What was the point of locking this warehouse? There was nothing in it to steal and the windows had been shattered long ago.  
  
He threw the jacket on over his shoulder holster and jogged back to the apartment. A car passed on the street and he jumped, but it was just some benign sedan. He bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door, and collapsed on the other side.  
"Hal?" He was too out of breath to respond. "Is that you?" He could hear Dave shuffling in the living room, then the soft click of a gun being cocked.  
"Yes- yes, it's me." His chest heaved, he couldn't get air fast enough and his muscles stung. A click, softer still, of the hammer being un-cocked.  
"Are you okay?" There was worry in his voice. Hal picked himself up off the ground and walked to the living room.  
"Yes, just- just out of breath." He set the bag on the floor, dropped the jacket onto the chair, and sank onto the couch. "Can you- can you help me- get this off?" Dave slid over on the couch toward Hal and his fingers made quick work of the holster straps. He placed it gently on the coffee table.  
  
"So... what happened? I haven't heard a peep out of you since the second drive by the place." Hal's breathing was slower now, but his mind was still racing.  
"Oh, my god. What happened?" His fingers drew through his hair nervously. "What happened? Well, I completely fucked it up, that's what happened." He pressed his fingers against his eyes. "God I need a smoke." Dave chuckled nervously and felt against the coffee table for his pack and lighter.  
"Wow, now I'm a little scared.  _You_  want a smoke? Jesus, did you kill somebody?" He popped the cigarette in his mouth and lit it before offering it to Hal. He placed it lightly between his lips and took a long drag. Then proceeded to hack up his lungs. Hal placed the cigarette back in his outstretched hand.  
"Fuck it. I don't need a smoke, I need a drink." He retreated to the kitchen for the vodka and two glasses. Dave's voice followed him.  
"Hal, for the love of god, tell me what happened! I mean, you're in one piece, right? And you're back. And the car's not a smoldering wreck, right?"  
"Yes, yes, and pretty much." The glasses clicked on the coffee table and he poured both of them a generous helping. "We have to get rid of the car. And I don't know how with just one of us. I mean, if I torch it, how do I get back? You can't drive a second car, and I can't just hail a taxi away from a billowing car fire." He mused out loud.  
"Hal. Look at me." He grabbed his chin and forced his eyes to Dave's face. "Why do we need to burn the car? Short sentences. Now." His voice was commanding and despite the fact that Dave's steely gaze was boring into a location just south of his ear, Hal swallowed nervously. He was still goddamned intimidating, even if he was blind.  
  
"Because..." He took a deep breath. "Okay, so I got into the vet clinic with no problem. No one was there. But the drug cabinet was a disaster. I only got some atropene and lidocaine. I got back out without a problem. Then-" Dave's hand relaxed its grip and when Hal reached for the vodka, he released his chin. "Then, and I don't know  _where_  they came from, but these psychos in a Humvee started chasing me."  
"Chased you? In the car?"  
"Yes, I finally out ran them, but Dave... They put three bullets in the car. They had guns, BIG guns. I think they're the remainder of the paramilitaries from N38."  
"Holy shit."  
"You're telling me. I honestly don't know how I managed to shake them." Dave's mouth opened to speak. "And before you ask, yes, I took the most circuitous path I possibly could to get back here. And yes, the car is stashed out of sight. I'm not so stupid that I left it parked out in front."  
"I wasn't going to say that-"  
"I know, I know, but trust me when I say that if there was a fraction of a chance that they knew where we were or had followed me, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now." He didn't have to say any more. Didn't have to tell Dave how they would both be broken and bloodied, enduring excruciating pain. Or simply dead.  
  
Hal let out a huge sigh and swallowed the rest of the vodka.  
"I have to admit, it was a huge rush up until the point I saw those headlights in my mirror. It was - it was crazy. But when you're being shot at? Forget it. I don't know how you do it. I never have. And I have even more respect for you after tonight." Dave clapped him on the shoulder lightly with his right hand, still healing.  
"If I knew- If I knew anything  _remotely_  like this would have happened tonight..."  
"I know.  _Believe_  me. I feel the same way every time you go on a mission." His voice lodged in his throat, tightness in his eyes. "And when things go wrong... God, Dave, this last time- when you called me over the codec, I-" Warm tears poured down his face.  
  
"I can't lose you, you know that? I can't-" Hal buried his face in Dave's shoulder. He didn't bother to hold back the sobs, his hands clawing for purchase on his shirt. Dave swallowed hard, eyes burning.  
"I know," he said softly. "I couldn't lose you, either." Tears gathered in his eyes, but he didn't allow them to spill. Instead, his arms tightened around Hal's shaking torso. "I don't even want to think about it. We're friends, right?" Hal pulled away and stared into his eyes, searching.  
"Of course, you know that." His heart burned and he automatically reached up to cradle Dave's cheek in his hand. He loved Dave in so many ways, at so many levels. Friends? He'd called him that in his heart very early on, before they'd even fully escaped Shadow Moses. He knew Dave had warmed to him eventually, letting him in under his stony facade when all others were shut out. It didn't need to be said now. It certainly didn't need to be asked. Not when each man knew they would give their life to save the other. "Of course." His vision blurred through the tears. God, he wanted- he wanted to show Dave he loved him so completely. His life was his, didn't he  _know_  that? The air was heavy and Hal knew he'd left his hand in place for too long. If they were friends, then what was this? Damn his betraying fingers! But they wouldn't work, wouldn't come unstuck from his skin. Dave unconsciously worried his lower lip between his teeth. Hal's mind worked on overdrive. What was that? A nervous gesture? Dave didn't do nervous gestures. But then he saw his eyes, unguarded, dilated. They'd already tested that, hadn't they? His irises still reacted to light, so this was something else... Right?  
  
Hal's breath grew shorter, shallower. He'd survived tonight against all odds. Could he be so flippant as to throw it all away on a silly gamble? But then Dave swallowed hard, and his hand was still on his face, and his eyes were wide, and his lower lip flush and bitten. And the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins and the space between them was far too much. Hal worked his fingers into the hair behind his ear, brushing their lips together lightly. Dave's eyes closed and he sucked in a short breath. But he didn't pull away. Hal studied him from a few inches away, brows knit. He couldn't read him, couldn't explain the situation. He was just frozen... accepting it? He dove in again, this time with more pressure. Daring to test the situation until it splintered.  
  
He caressed Dave's lower lip with the inside of his, tasting, not believing it would last. He pulled his top lip between his and stroked with his tongue, gently. A small choked whimper crawled out from Dave's throat and broke the last of Hal's disbelief. He dug both hands into his hair, driving their lips together, licking at Dave's until he opened his mouth. The warm interior of his cheeks was his to explore. His tongue fought inside, mixing with Dave's, gliding and caressing.  
  
This couldn't be happening? After all this time, after all his wishing. After all his self inflicted misery. If this was a dream he would make it  _good_  and he would make it  _last_. He couldn't get enough of Dave's mouth, so he kissed down his chin, down to his neck, drawing wet lines with his tongue over all the proud veins. He'd wanted to do this for so long. Taste his skin. He breathed in his scent, kissing towards his ear.  
"Hal-" it was a short gasp muffled when he reached his earlobe, sucking it between his teeth. Oh, it was delicious and he played with it between his teeth, rolling it between his lips. Suddenly Dave's hands were on his face, a vice like grip removing his mouth and crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. He pulled away a millimeter to ask, "how long?"  
"Forever." The force was renewed, and Dave plunged his tongue into Hal's mouth. He never... He never thought he would feel this, feel Dave kissing him. And now he was doing so with such fervor. His heart wanted to explode. Hal's glasses dug into the bridge of his nose with their force and he pulled away slightly, set them safely on the coffee table, and surrendered himself to the brutal onslaught from Dave's lips.  
  
His big hands worked their way down from his face to his neck, tipping it back and exposing his delicate throat. While his fingers showed no mercy to his jaw, his nose gently traced down his neck, tongue dipping out to paint a wet line down to the collar of his turtleneck. He licked and nipped gently, but finally frustrated, he murmured, "we have to get his off."  
  
Hal hastily complied and the shirt was flung to join the jacket on the chair. He resumed his work, tongue tracing down to the hollow in his throat, licking the sweat that had gathered from the night's exertions. Hal's hands were buried in his hair, eyes rolled back in his head. God, this was too good, too much. His cock strained insistently against the black fatigues, but he didn't want to risk too much, ask Dave for things he likely wasn't willing to provide. This was enough. This was heaven. So he bit his lip and moaned quietly while Dave's mouth marked his collar bone.  
"I love that sound," he hummed into his skin. Hal's fingers itched for employment, so he toyed with the hem of Dave's shirt, slinking underneath to stroke along the taut muscles surrounding his ribcage. But he was still bound by his hands, holding Hal's shoulders steady.  
  
"Please, let me-" Dave released him to trap his lips in a smoldering kiss and Hal took the opportunity to push him back against the cushions. He slowly worked his shirt off and pinned Dave's arms to his sides. Hal's mouth fed hungrily at his chest, sucking every inch of skin, tasting him, embedding his scent into the folds of his mind. It was delicious to hear him gasp, short little breaths when Hal hit sensitive spots of skin. His biceps trembled with the need to move, to push Hal down and return the sensations. Hal inched down, kissing down his stomach, watching it quiver in fascination. His tongue danced around his navel and he was rewarded with a throaty moan.  
  
"Oh, Hal... Please, please..." His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing into Hal's chest. Delirious, he was only too happy to comply, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his thighs.  
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he breathed as he pulled Dave's boxers down, unsheathing his desperate erection. Dave's hands wound into his curls, but a wicked smile spread across Hal's mouth. "Oh, no, I have a much better idea." He grabbed the holster from the coffee table, removing the Glock and twisting the nylon straps several times. He wrapped one loop around Dave's left hand, working to slide the other end under the small of his back, and hooked it around his right. "Much better." Dave cracked a grin.  
"I don't have to see to know you've got a shit-eating smirk on your face right now." He lowered his smiling mouth to the soldier's, pressing the curve of their lips together. Dave's eyes were wide open, his pupils blown wide in arousal. Hal gorged on the sight before slinking away, trailing his fingers over Dave's abdomen before he got off the couch, kneeling on the floor, careful not to touch an inch of skin. It only took 15 seconds of burning patience to collect his reward.  
  
"Hal? What are you doing?" Silence. "I know you're there. I can hear you breathing." His smile grew wider and he carefully licked a small circle over the head of Dave's penis before retreating. He drew in a sharp, quivering breath. "Oh my god." His fingers flexed in their restraints, divided between wanting and not wanting to remove the holster. Hal let another 15 seconds pass, then licked a quick line along the veins throbbing on the underside, winning a gasp. Hal was silent, only Dave's heavy breathing echoed off the walls. Next, he nibbled up the sides of his shaft, waiting until he was whimpering before pulling back. "This is so unfair. Please, Hal..." But Hal was having too much fun, drawing it out, making the sweet torture last as long as possible. He continued to lick and nip on and all around his penis until the sweat beaded on Dave's chest and he was writhing in pleasure and frustration. "Please, please, I'm begging you." His hips bucked into the air fruitlessly. Finally, Hal gave in, one hand around his own cock, mouth enveloping Dave with wet heat. His brain was on overload, everything condensed down to Hal's hot mouth. The world didn't exist, it was just him, just Hal, and one encompassing spot of pleasure that eroded his reality. His body was taut, bucking into Hal's mouth, hands balled into fists at his side. It didn't take long before the blinding pleasure suffocated them both. Dave came with a loud gasp, shooting down Hal's throat. He pulled away and smothered his own moans in Dave's stomach before coming all over his hands and the borrowed fatigues.  
They stayed like that for a minute, breathing slowing, Hal planting small exhausted kisses along the line of his chest.  
  
"Wow. Just, wow." Words were so useless now. "Care to help me out of this thing?" Dave's fingers gestured to the holster.  
"Hmm, maybe? I'm taken with the idea of just keeping you like that." He smirked, unwrapping the loops from his hands. Once free, they caught Hal's face and buried him in fevered kisses.  
"It's my turn now, Emmerich," a predatory grin grew across his face.  
"As much as I would love to take you up on that, I think I'm going to pass out instead." Hal collapsed on the couch next to him, burying his face in Dave's chest.  
"Nice. You don't play fair." Hal murmured in acquiescence, his lips crushed against Dave's skin, hovering on the border of sleep. "Tomorrow, then. I'll get you back tomorrow."  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight prodded Hal's lids. His limbs stretched awkwardly, stiffened against the couch cushions. His left arm was trapped underneath his chest, numb. The couch was empty, save for the tangled mess of his own body. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes with his functioning hand, catching Dave's form sitting in the kitchen, doing slow curls with his right arm. His brows were knit, bottom lip bitten. He was making improvement, but it was painful - clearly.  
"Morning."  
"...morning. What time is it?" Hal picked his glasses up from the coffee table, easing a crimp out of his neck. What had persuaded him to sleep on the couch? Either of their beds would have been a far better choice. He glanced at the blinking lights on the DVD player.  
"Almost 9. I think it's safe to say those militants haven't found us yet." A grunt from Dave in assent. "We're out of cereal, you want to get something from Ella's?" Perhaps it was a celebration of sorts. Hal successfully navigated through his first mission, they hadn't been captured by crazed psychos, Dave's torn muscles were knitting together nicely. And of course, last night...  
It was the first morning where they could throw off the dour cloak of tension and depression that had shrouded them for months. Ever since that fateful message about N38. Dave set down the weight, a smile ghosting over his lips.  
"Sure."  
  
Once they were both showered, dressed, they made their way downstairs. Dave's wandering eyes would likely startle the occupants, so he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and Hal picked a table by the window rather than their customary booth at the back. All the tables were tiny, like small broken pieces of a much larger table. This one was just big enough to hold two plates and assorted silverware, no more. Not even their elbows. Hal gazed around the restaurant, catching the averted heads of four patrons and the brief glance of the proprietor. It had been nearly three weeks since either man had set foot in the diner. Dave was hobbled, masking it well, but their presence still set everyone on edge. Lions being watched by gazelles.  
  
"What can I get ya, boys?" He filled their coffee cups to the brim, steaming and black.  
"Two eggs over easy and some hash browns, please."  
"Sausage and pancakes." He felt the weight of Hal's reproachful gaze. "Please."  
"You betcha."  
Snippets of conversation washed over their heads. The weather. Who was planting what crop and when. How the winter wheat had fared. 'Two old Norwegians walk into a bar...' But they were silent, unable to buoy a simple conversation. Dave basked in the sunlight, letting it warm his face and hands. Hal kept a watchful eye on the door and the sidewalk outside. He had to be the alert one. He knew he could never let his guard down again.  
  
But what could they possibly talk about? The only things of pertinence were investigating Dave's condition, finding a way to dispose of the car, and everything that had transpired last night. Neither man was keen to talk about the latter part of the evening. It had happened, it was wonderful, but... what were they supposed to do, discuss their feelings? Hal let one portion of his brain dance along in silent elation, let the half of his mouth invisible to the restaurant curl upwards in delight. It  _had_  happened. Miracle of miracles. And it would happen again, in all likelihood. As long as he could keep them safe, keep them alive. Would they ever get to the comfortable point where he could simply run his fingers along the line of Dave's ribs, just for the sheer pleasure of it? God, he hoped they would.  
  
But such musings were fruitless, distracting, and he pushed it from his mind. He spotted the rack of newspapers and adverts in the corner, stood methodically so as not to startle Dave, grabbed one and sat back down.  
"Cars," was his one word explanation. Dave nodded.  
"How about a truck instead? You know, something we could use to tow it." Great idea. His eyes scanned down the page. Cars, cars, SUVs, farm equipment... There were a dozen trucks, most far too expensive to be practical.  
"92 Dodge Dakota, no mileage listed. $800."  
"That's only two wheel drive. Any others?"  
"87 Chevy Silverado, good tires. $750, or best offer."  
"Decent, as long as it runs. Want to take a look at it?" Hal shrugged.  
"Sure, but I don't think we have any other options right now. Those were the only two less than four thousand." Their food arrived and silence settled again, save for the clinking of forks and knives.  
  
Hunger satiated, they returned to their apartment. Hal dialed the number, let it ring until it hit the fast busy. No answering machine. He tried again, eight rings, and finally a voice. They'd meet in an hour, a farm far to the west of the city. Hal counted out a stack of twenties from one of their stashes in the apartment. Funds were getting low, again. Before they left this city behind for good, he would have to dedicate another afternoon to collect small random 'donations'.  
He ducked out of the apartment and quickly found the abandoned warehouse from last night. Picked the lock like a veteran, listening with relief as the car's engine turned over.  
"Just once more, baby, I promise." He muttered, pulling the battered car into the street slowly, driving to the rear of their apartment where Snake waited, clutching the stair railing.  
The next stop was the the U-Haul by the interstate, where 'Nick Llewellyn' procured a tow dolly. Two twenties gone, but it was a worthwhile investment. The dolly wouldn't be coming back.  
Then they were back on the road before the bullet holes and dried blood garnered too many curious stares, too many unvoiced questions. The less impact, the better.  
  
The farm was found easily enough, the farmer all too accommodating. The truck was in poor but serviceable condition. Snake sat in the Subaru while they bargained, arms folded over his chest. The stubble on his chin was was a few days long and his countenance plus sunglasses screamed menace. Hal allowed the man's honest gaze to fall over the figure in the car, the car itself. This time he invited the unspoken questions. Begged the worry to rise in his mind - did he really want to tarry with a man like this? A man associated with bullet holes and blood. A man with frightening friends. Did the ad say seven fifty? That must have been a mistake. No, no, six hundred was okay, and more than the truck was worth. Could he help with the hitch?  
  
Bills exchanged, Hal accepted his help, attached the dolly to the Chevy, drove the Subaru onto it, and strapped the wheels down. They were gone in a matter of minutes.  
"Did you talk him down a hundred dollars?"  
"Hundred and fifty," he said with a shy smile.  
"I never figured you for a negotiator."  
  
It was easy enough to get lost on the plains. An hour, a few random turns, and Hal had found a place forsaken of inhabitants, where the pavement ended and turned into dust. The time between passed amicably, country and bluegrass music on the radio, Dave next to him, silent, but a pleasant companion. It gave him time to get used to the truck, to the way it sounded, quivers in the steering, how it shifted doubtfully from one gear to the next. Not the best replacement, but it would do. He pulled the truck a short distance into a fallow field, careful not to wander too deep lest the spring mud stick both vehicles in place. He shut off the truck and proceeded to undo the hitch. The Subaru was in neutral, so once it was unfastened, he recruited Dave's help to simply push it off the dolly. It rolled back into the soft dirt, suspension bouncing lightly before coming to a rest.  
  
"I feel like I should say a few words," he muttered while retrieving the gas can from the trunk. Perhaps it was a bit of a ceremony, he thought while unscrewing the cap, sprinkling the upholstery liberally with gasoline. It had been such a faithful servant, humbly carrying their gear from city to city, quietly bearing the burden of long miles on the road, ferrying them through bad weather, gloriously charioting Dave away from a hail of bullets. It had crated them long, uncertain miles into Canada and back.  
  
But now it was a liability. With the remainder of those maniacs looking for them, it was a bright red target on their backs. Dave offered him the glowing end of his cigarette. He tossed it lightly onto the drivers seat, watching the fire spread in a quick halo of blue and yellow. It gathered speed, flying to the back seat, to the dash. The whole car quickly became a glowing ember. Hal felt an impossible tightness in his eyes. This was a car, for crying out loud?!  
"It was a  _good_  car." Dave grunted in assent and Hal, overcome with the silence they'd borne on the trip, the unreasonable emotion, grasped Dave's face and smothered him with a long, deep kiss. He didn't flinch away, returning it, wrapping his hands around Hal's waist. Their tongues twined until the heat reached their faces.  
"Time to go." The truck started and they were back on the road by the time the fire had melted the gasket around the firewall. It entered the engine, found the fuel line, the tank, and burst into a ball of flame.  
  
  
***  
  
  
By mid afternoon they'd found their way back to the apartment, the truck parked outside in their customary spot. Now that the immediate needs had been addressed, they could return their focus to diagnosing Dave's blindness. He'd shown no improvement save for slowly adapting to the loss of his sight. He found the couch without issue, made himself comfortable, and poured a glass of warm vodka left on the coffee table while Hal prepared to check his retinas. Mei Ling had sent instructions, so he was hovering over the gas oven now, sterilizing the smooth handle of a butter knife over a lit burner.  
  
Job done, he set it on a clean paper towel to cool and fetched an eyedropper and the atropene from their expanding first aid kit. Hal watched as Dave sipped the vodka, draining the glass to the bottom.  
"I'm going to put a few drops of the atropene into each of your eyes, okay?" He approached slowly, kneeling on the couch while Dave obediently leaned his head on the back of the couch. He added a few drops to one, then the other, watching Dave blink quickly in reaction, spreading it across the surface. "It's probably a little cold, but soon you won't be able to feel it. The atropene will dilate your pupils and will numb your eyes. It will probably feel weird."  
"Hmm. Thanks for the heads up." Hal rose to check on the knife handle. Dave poured himself another glass.  
  
The metal was cooling quickly, but he'd give the atropene at least ten minutes to work. Hal busied himself by finding a flashlight instead. After a successful search, he returned to the couch to find Dave rubbing his eyelids in small circles.  
"Feels damn odd." As he lowered his fingers, Hal was met with the same sight as last night, his pupils wide and black. It was unnerving.  
"I'd expect so, but that's good, means we have the best shot at doing this right. I-I mean..." He was nervous now as he gripped the knife blade and straddled Dave's hips. What if he screwed up? What if he slipped? What if he caused more damage than was already done?  
  
He turned on the flashlight and popped the end of it in his mouth. With his left hand he gingerly spread open Dave's eyelids. His right hand shook slightly, and he took a deep breath. He could tell the soldier was holding his. They trusted each other implicitly, but this was delicate... He shone the flashlight into his wide pupil and pushed gently on the white sclera of his eye with the smooth end of the handle. The light shone through the vitreous humour and the blood vessels stood out in stark contrast. But there was no movement. No quivering and disconnected retina. No torn tissue bleeding out into the center of his eye.  
  
Hal realized he was holding his breath as well and let it out in a long sigh around the end of the flashlight, hands falling to his sides.  
"Well, that's good news on one. Let's see about the other." He repeated the same procedure on Dave's other eye, but again, there was no movement, no ripped fibers. His retinas were intact.  
  
"Now what? I was half hoping you'd find something." Dave blinked rapidly, trying futilely to bring feeling back to his eyes and lids. "All this means is we still have no clue what's causing this." Hal was in the kitchen, washing the knife, putting the flashlight away.  
"I'm glad there's no visible damage, but... Damn it. I just wish I knew what was wrong." They both felt powerless. "I'm sending another message to Mei Ling." The next step would be admitting Dave to a hospital. Which would mean fake IDs, faked medical records, falsified insurance... They were nearing the end of their rope. What choice did they have?  
  
Both men spent the next day packing up the apartment. It was such a routine now that it was almost comforting, packing up their few belongings. Dave was able to pack his clothes and the kitchen utensils, Hal picked up the few weapons lying around, their essential bathroom supplies, non-essential computer equipment. His primary laptop was busying picking routing numbers at random, siphoning five dollar 'administration' fees into their various shell accounts. He scooped the perpetually packed boxes of anime and manga from under his bed. Countless trips between the truck and the apartment, up and down the stairs, brought a light sheen of sweat to his brow. It was so much easier when there were two people to help ferry boxes. The ammunition boxes would be last, covered securely with a bed sheet.  
  
They were uprooting themselves from the city they'd lived in for over seven months. They'd had time to learn the pattern of the streets, the lazy-twangy dialect of the residents, where the cheapest liquor stores were, the name of the girl at the post office. It was longer than any other place they'd lived. The routine and the silent occupation was comforting, even if the end goal was not.  
  
Arms full of boxes, one beep from the laptop told Hal their accounts had reached a plump sum. On the return trip, the beeping was continuous, a warning. He jogged over to the laptop, swiftly unclipping the network cable.  
"How's it coming?"  
"All boxed up," Dave called from the bathroom.  
"Good, let's get on the road."  
  
Bozeman, Montana was their destination. A change of scenery, a chance to disappear. The sky was dusky as Hal placed the last week's rent on the coffee table, closed the door, and pushed the keys under the sill. If he drove all night, they would be in Bozeman in the morning. If anyone had seen their Subaru driving northwards to Canada the week prior, the mercenaries would head towards Manitoba. That was the only lead they could pursue. As soon as they were out of Bismarck, their trail would be cold.  
  
Under mid-morning sun, Hal and Dave crated their belongings out of the truck and into a small, rundown farmhouse at the edge of Bozeman. The mountains rose thickly behind the house, a light dusting of white still clinging to the ridges. The valley spread out in front of them, more mountains framing it, these fading off into a gentle blue. It was gorgeous. Hal's fingers itched for a camera. Then his eyes caught Dave's figure, shuffling uncertainly towards the porch steps. They creaked under his weight, desperately in need of attention. The breathtaking panorama which encircled them, and Dave could barely make it up the stairs without stumbling.  
  
Hal crated the boxes into the house one by one and Dave sorted through them with probing fingers. Bathroom - important. Kitchen - important. He had to learn the new layout of the house before he could be confident enough to carry each to their designated room.  
An hour or so later, Hal finished unloading the truck. There was no furniture save three chairs around a small kitchen table. He'd have to remedy that tomorrow. He set about unpacking the air mattress from one box, inflated it with their small electric air compressor, and collapsed in fatigue.  
  
After about a week, Dave was finding his way around the house with confidence, near speed. Tense days passed while they waited for a reply from Mei Ling. She was difficult to reach, again. Just what was she up to?  
When she finally checked in, the satellite vid feed showed dark circles under her eyes, but a bright smile on her lips.  
"Otacon, Snake - how are you?"  
"Never  _better_."  
"Don't mind him, he's just cranky from being cooped up. How are you?"  
"Excellent. Despite the lack of progress in diagnosis, I think I have a promising option." She detailed her work over the past month, replete with diagrams and sketches. "It seems we were not the only ones interested in Project Horus. I went through the Department of Defense servers to try and find their research results and found records of two entities requesting copies of files in the past year. You'll never guess who." Hal's eyebrows quirked. For the hell of it, he asked.  
"Who?"  
"A Doctor G. Bennet and a Doctor N. Hunter. I couldn't find much of anything on Bennet, except for the fact he'd been in and out of dozens of records for classified projects. However, I had quite a good idea who Dr Hunter was." She detailed attempts made to track down Naomi, including a fruitless trip to Boston and a flight to her last known location in Gaborone, Botswana. The trail had, as expected, gone cold. "She's done quite a good job of disappearing. I still haven't been able to get in touch with her." Hal grasped the bridge of his nose in frustration.  
  
"Does that mean we're back at square one?"  
"Not necessarily. I'm not a doctor, but I could guess what her aims were when she accessed the Horus data. Nanomachines. That's her forte, correct?" Of course. It all made sense now. She was likely trying to gather data on eyesight repair and augmentation to modify it for use in her ever-adapting array of microscopic creations. "Why can't we do the same?" The image of her impish, smiling face was replaced with a command line screen which rapidly filled with line after line of glaring white text.  
Hal's eyes raced back and forth as it scrolled. It was only a few pages, but it was a solid outline of nerve reconstruction instructions for the nanomachines swimming in Dave's veins. Hal's lips split into a grin as he read the first few lines.  
  
`void axonSearch () {`  
     int loc [3] = {x, y, z};  
     bool axonFound = false;  
     while (axonFound == false) {  
     mobility(); //default movement function  
     axonFound = myelinCheck() //need to debug!! >_<  
     if (axonFound == true) {  
          signalLoc() = loc; //hive communication  
     }  
}  
  
Perhaps it wasn't perfect syntax, but it was a good beginning. That, and Mei Ling had gotten them off the ground with a crude networking tool, another procedure for finding the insulating myelin lipid nerve structures, and an adaptation of the machines' protein conversion sub-routine to build new umbilical lines of nodes and axons. It would be a herculean task to create new neurons. Instead, they could employ the nanobots to run neurotransmitter extension cords from Dave's eyes to his optical lobe. Hal rubbed his hands together unconsciously, nervous to begin.  
Both he and Dave heartily thanked Mei Ling, promised to get in touch soon, and then Hal's fingers began buzzing off the keys.  
  
The primary inhibitor was finding a way to allow the nanomachines to differentiate between specific optical nerves and all other sinews that ran through Dave's body. It would do no good, and perhaps a good deal of harm, if the little bots started replicating nerve tissue on each synapse they spotted. The sun had nestled between the mountains and the sky was pitch black before Hal was aware of the passage of time. Dave had kept busy by cleaning a few guns and lifting weights while Hal read through the notes from Project Horus.  
"The retinohypothalamic tract can be identified through electrical stimulus. The distended axon characteristic of RGCs has been found to resist current in a factor of 10E-3 when compared with non-explicit synapse structures."  
"Makes sense." Dave was a good sounding board, despite his lack of medical or programming knowledge. "The nanomachines generate their own electricity. This means they should be able to use it to identify these specific cells as a starting point." The man had an IQ of 160 after all. Hal murmured in agreement and then his fingers were off again. Dave wanted to interrupt him, but thought better of it, walking out onto the porch to light a cigarette instead. It was good to hear Hal's productivity, especially after the days upon weeks of impotent struggle.  
  
The air was crisp, even if it was the end of April. Between drags, he filled his lungs with the mountain air, holding his breath to listen. They were not so far outside the small city that the soft engine rumble of trucks and cars didn't reach them. The night was especially still and his keen ears picked up the far away grinding of a train on tracks, soft, quick hoots from one owl, then another, somewhere distant in the trees. The dry grass rustled quietly behind him. Foxes, perhaps. He took another drag, listening. So much he would have missed just a month ago. His senses had always been sharp, but lacking sight, they were increased substantially. All the sounds of the night wafted in harmony around him, accompanied by the staccato tapping of Hal's fingers. He lit another cigarette.  
  
Perhaps it was the fleeting and ethereal connection he felt with the world at that moment. His chest tightened, keying in on Hal's busy digits. He heard him sigh, then pause. Hal. The engineer was never far from his thoughts, but they had barely connected since that stolen night over a week ago in Bismarck, recovering from the the car chase. He remembered Hal's lips on his as he brought the second cigarette to his mouth again, finishing it in one long drag. Was it his fault? He'd gone right back into his routine instead of using those precious few minutes in the early morning to put his feelings into words. It was too difficult to reach across, make that connection. Between where he was and where he wanted to be was a vast emotional chasm he couldn't breach.  
  
The typing began again, falteringly, and Dave heard him sigh frustratedly. Perhaps the coding wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. Dave stubbed out the dead butt with the toe of his shoe. The typing stopped again and he heard Hal crack his knuckles one by one, chewing a problem over in his head. He couldn't proof the code for Hal, couldn't help him debug it, but there was one thing he could help with. He padded back up the porch steps and found him in the living room by sound. Dave rested his hands on Hal's hunched shoulders, working his thumbs in circles between his spine and shoulder blades.  
"What do you say to giving that a break for tonight. I can tell you're stressed out."  
"I have to keep going, I won't make any progress by dawdling."  
"Yes, but if you're stuck right now, you need a break. I'm sure you'll be fresh and full of ideas in the morning." Dave added pressure with his fingers to Hal's tight trapezius, earning a small grunt, conceding.  
  
"Alright, you win... My brain is dead tonight anyway. And all the characters are starting to bleed together."  
"Good," a small smile set itself on Dave's features. "Turn off the computer and come sit on the couch." Hal moved his fingers on the keyboard.  
"There, it's shut down."  
"Bullshit," he chided. "I can hear that high pitched electric whine. Fan's still on. Monitor too."  
"Aw, you suck." Hal shut it down for real this time and Dave noted the quiet hush when the LCD powered down. "Happy?"  
"Getting there." The smile was evident in his tone. "Sit on the couch." Hal stood up, popping his neck, cracking his elbows, and shuffled over to sit.  
  
The solider followed behind and resumed the slow deliberate massage. He worked his fingers up the back of Hal's neck, rubbing out all the little knots that had formed during the day's efforts. All the way up to his hairline, then back down, working his way out to his shoulders. There was a spot halfway between which made Hal groan deliciously as he worked it out. Dave spent extra time there, then continued on down his back. He tugged at the hem of his shirt and Hal wordlessly agreed, pulling it over his head. Dave continued to massage his skin, working his knuckles along Hal's spine, his fingertips gently prodding along the edge of his shoulder blades.  
  
"Your hands are so warm," Hal murmured, eyes closing. Dave continued down to the small of his back, then back up, working in little circles, bigger circles, everywhere. Touching and rubbing every square centimeter of skin. He found himself wanting to move in, press his nose against his back, breathe in his smell, run his lips over his skin. The desire was so strong and he heard Hal's breath quicken. It was overpowering now, and he ran the tip of his nose up his neck, burying it in the short curls at he base of his head. He drank in his scent, almonds and earthy like before - never stopping his hands, which were now perched on his shoulders, flexing and rubbing. He let his face wander to Hal's shoulder line, pressing his open lips against his skin, slow kisses trailing out to his shoulder while his hands worked down his arms, holding them firmly.  
  
"Hal..." he breathed it into his skin and the engineer responded with a shaky sigh, tipping his head back. Dave took the opportunity to nestle his face into his exposed neck, kissing then sucking on his throat. He could feel Hal swallow, breath becoming raspy. His sensitive mouth transcribed the rapid pulse through his jugular, his tongue and lips hungry on his skin as if savoring a sweet, rapidly melting dessert. The feel, the smells, the knowledge that Hal was fast losing control, reacting to his touch, brought a rush of blood to his groin. The scientist half-whispered, half-moaned his name. It didn't take much more before Dave was fully erect and seriously contemplating pushing his pelvis closer to Hal, dry rubbing against him to find some kind of relief.  
  
No, he didn't want to move things so fast. At least the small screaming rational portion of his brain was pleading with him to slow down. The rest of his body, ever nerve fiber begged him to rut against Hal like a crazed animal. He growled in frustration, inner confusion, biting Hal lightly, winning a strangled whimper laced with desire from the other's mouth. That was it, he couldn't fucking take it. His healed arms, strong again, turned Hal around on the couch, searching desperately for his mouth. Hal's fine hands settled on either side of his face, guiding their hungry lips together. Their tongues tangled frantically, probing the soft secret spaces of each other's mouth. Dave buried his fingers in his hair, running his fingernails along his scalp, feeling the smooth curls slide against his palms. Hal's hands meanwhile found occupation along the soldier's waistline, caressing the well defined muscles along his ribs. Up, further along the lines of his chest, up to his shoulders. They broke apart momentarily so Hal could pull his shirt over his head. Dave flung it blindly and resumed his hungry exploration of the scientist's face.  
  
Hal was desperate to get closer, so he pushed their bodies together, flinging his legs over Dave's. Their chests slid against each other, a light sheen of sweat coating skin. It seemed ages since they'd last touched. All his pent up longing and frustration crystallized into frantic energy. He rocked his hips against Dave's, starting an electric rhythm to which the other man responded willingly, moaning his gratitude into Hal's mouth. But only so much could be accomplished with restrictive clothing barring the way. Hal's fingers worked quickly at Dave's new belt buckle, the button, the zipper. Dave broke away for a few moments to peel off his jeans, boxers. Hal drank in the sight, all the easy strength rippling under his skin, all that skin shimmering, miles and miles of it, and his urgent insistent erection, swelled and begging to be touched.  
  
Hal quickly stood and shed the last of his clothing, then pulled Dave back down to the couch, on top, warm skin connecting, burning need brushing, sending electricity to their brains and out their mouths in gasps and groans. Dave ground against him, desperately, wanton. Hal coated his hand thickly with his own saliva and wormed it between their boiling bodies, wrapping them together in a strong grip.  
"Oh god, oh... Hal..." Dave's mind was blown, gone, just the shell of him still conscious, stripped down to animal instincts, pleasure smothering him. Hal watched in fascination as Dave's mouth grew slack, eyes rolling back in his head of their own volition. It was perfect, he was too beautiful and the splendor of the moment overwhelmed him and shortly they were both tumbling over the edge, erupting, cum bathing Hal's hand and spilling onto their stomachs.  
  
It took a minute, maybe more, before their breathing slowed. As their bodies cooled, their focus turned to more mundane tasks. Getting clean, getting sleep. They stood awkwardly, suddenly uneasy in each other's presence. Dave retreated to the bathroom first and Hal perched on the couch, contemplating what just happened. He couldn't let them lapse into silence and inaction again. Couldn't let their relationship cleave further into two separate and distinct factions. He wouldn't allow them to bury something this precious under the surface, waiting for it to boil only after weeks of crippling frustration and inaction. He couldn't be separated from Dave any longer. Not by a mile, not by an arm length, not by an inch. He shuffled timidly into the bathroom, watching Dave in the mirror.  
  
"Hey."  
"Hey."  
"Are you going to take a shower?" Dave pondered this for a beat.  
"Yeah, I think I might."  
"Mind... mind if I take one with you?" Dave looked up, into the mirror, sightless eyes fixed somewhere in the vicinity of Hal's face. Chewed on it.  
"Mmm... sure." A grin split Hal's face, relieved and energized. He reached into the shower stall, turned on the water, testing it a bit to make sure it was nice and hot. He stepped in and Dave was close behind him, rinsing the product of their exertions down the drain.  
  
"Want me to wash your back?" Dave gave a noncommittal shrug and Hal proceeded to lather his arms, hands, then scrubbed all over Dave's back. Not too hard, not too light. A hint of fingernails. A soft sigh slipped out of Dave's mouth and his shoulders relaxed. "See, it's not so bad." Hal said lightly mocking, trying to lift the unexplained sullen mood. Dave chuckled softly.  
"No, no, it's not so bad." And after a half minute, "thanks."  
"I'll get your hair, too." It didn't take long to wash his short strands and soon the conditioner was rinsed out. Dave returned the favor, gentle hands working through his sodden curls. The day's grease and the last bit of uneasy tension dripped through his fingers and down the drain.  
  
Once they were clean, Dave's bed seemed like a much better option than the couch, and much better still than separate beds. Hal found himself quickly wrapped in Dave's arms, pulled against his chest.  
"Thank you," Dave whispered into his hair. "Sometimes I can be an ass."  
"No problem," Hal conceded with a smile, not arguing. "Night."  
"Night."  
  
  
***  
  
  
When Hal woke the next morning, Dave was still there, although they'd switched positions and the solider was on his back, Hal's arm draped haphazardly across his chest. The sunlight glinted into the room, drawing patterns across Dave's skin. Hal lazily traced them with his finger, watching the dust motes sparkle in and out of existence as they drifted downwards. How long had he dreamed about this?  
  
It wasn't long before Dave woke, stirred by the warmth of the sun and the motions of Hal's curious fingertips.  
"Morning."  
Dave yawned. "Morning."  
Hal gave him a short sweet kiss and then ambled off to the bathroom. There was a method about his madness. A kiss - simple, sweet, casual. He was determined to craft this into an everyday occurrence, not a rarity.  
He exited and plopped back down on the bed, letting Dave take his turn. He waited. He didn't get dressed, didn't wander out to the kitchen for breakfast. He waited. He filled his mind with thoughts of last night. Dave's amazing body, his reactions, the way his fingers felt, his open lips. He still felt the warmth of his hands trailing over his back and chest.  
  
Dave returned and Hal made damn sure that he was hard, pumping himself, and moaning slightly, enticingly.  
"Hal?"  
"Ye- yes?" He was breathing hard at this point too, aroused by the boldness of his plan, by Dave's proximity.  
"Are - you?" He let the words hang in the air, listening to Hal's breathy moans. He stood grounded for a few pulse-pounding seconds, then slowly but surely shuffled over to the bed. He knelt down and reached out for Hal, his hands ghosting over his skin, unsure of his location. Hal's skin was on fire. The pads of Dave's fingers rippled over his skin, searching. They smoothed over his calves, his knees, his thighs, touching lightly on his inside thigh, stretching, reaching to where his fingers fisted around his erection, stroking hard. He was gasping by now and Dave's body reacted accordingly, tightening the skin around his balls, filling his penis with hot blood, ready and eager to join in. Dave had just started stroking his own shaft and the sight of it combined with the electricity of the moment sent Hal over the edge, gasping his name as he came.  
  
Uneasy silence again settled between them until Hal, riding down his climax, let out a short little breathy laugh.  
"See? See what you do to me? Just your goddamn fingers. Just your presence." Dave silenced him with a hungry kiss.  
"God, Hal. I can't..." words failed. "Don't think for a moment you're finished here." They both grinned and Hal playfully pushed Dave down, straddling his legs.  
"No. No, I'm not." His last words danced around Dave's erect penis, begging for contact. He obliged by lowering his lips, sucking it into his warm mouth one slow inch at a time. Dave's breath came in quick harsh gasps, and his hands found their way naturally into Hal's hair, caressing and pulling gently. His mouth was pure heat and wet suction, driving him insistently mad. Beatitudes dripped from his lips.  
"Hal- oh, oh... God. You-" He uttered a low, guttural moan, unable to form coherent thought. His brows knitted as Hal increased the pressure, massaging with his tongue, pulling him in further and harder. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, the suddenness of his attack, the bare eroticism of the moment in the stark and silent room. And Hal's words - they were burying their hot little way into his mind. He gasped again and released his passion into Hal's mouth.  
  
The scientist wiped his lips and lay down beside him, panting for breath.  
"You- are a man- of many talents." He smoothed his fingers through Hal's soft curls.  
"I know." A devilish smirk crossed his face. All these endorphins were making him cocky, self-confident. "You haven't seen half of it." He'd caught his breath so he bent down to Dave's softening cock, lapping carefully to clean him. His ministrations had the added benefit of slowly bringing him back to a state of full arousal.  
"You bastard." Hal grinned and reached to the nightstand where he'd conveniently left some hand lotion from the bathroom. Emboldened, he squirted a generous dollop on his fingers, wiping some onto Dave's beating member, stuffing the rest slowly and gently into himself. His index finger worked slowly in and out, probing, stretching. He made little involuntary noises as he worked, adding his middle finger, then the start of his ring finger. "Dave..." his voice was a whisper, thready with anticipation. God, he wanted him so badly. Wanted to feel the soldier inside of him, wanted to stare into his eyes as he came. He was addictingly attractive, but nothing short of stunning when he climaxed. Hal was already drunk on the sight with only two brief glimpses.  
  
Dave quirked an eyebrow, not totally sure of what Hal was up to. But then he heard the little gasps and propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out tentatively. His fingers connected with Hal's engorged penis, a whimper escaping from the touch. No, he wasn't stroking himself. He was - well, he was preparing himself for Dave. The realization crashed over him like a wave. He was at once stunned and excited and scared. Were they ready for this? Was Hal ready? It seemed like he was pushing for too much this morning. Dave's heart clenched at the idea of running this too raw, taking too much from their new relationship before it even began.  
"Hal? Are you sure?"  
"Yes. God, yes. I want you so bad." It was a rush of words, one long husky gasp. Hal pushed him down on the bed and straddled him again, but his words were tentative. "Is this okay?" Two words bounced around in Dave's head, then came exploding out his mouth at once.  
"Yes. Now." Hal positioned himself and slowly worked the head of Dave's penis inside his opening. It was fire: feeling mixed with flame. He sunk down farther, accepting him slowly, adjusting himself to the new and wonderful feeling of flesh inside his own. Dave's flesh. Dave.  
  
One hand was on the soldier's thigh, the other on his stomach, supporting his weight. Dave settled his fingers over Hal's. His world was eroding again, down to just two points - little choked moans of pleasure and tight hot walls squeezing him. The warm sun through the window was forgotten. The sounds of the outside world - the distant trains, the birds, the cars - this was not part of their world. Even the soft sheets beneath him failed to exist. It was just he and Hal, and barely even that, just two sentient points of wild pleasure in his black world. Hal rode him, up and down, harder, pounding, then slower, softer, and back again. Dave couldn't contain the moans from his chest, they leaked out from his throat into Hal's ears, encouraging him. Dave's hands moved to Hal's hips, gripping, guiding.  
  
Then to Hal's shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts. He tossed his head back into the pillows, blind and wild, base instinct soaking in and stealing away rational thought. Hal's toes curled, watching Dave's throat arc, his adam's apple bob, and his hips pound into him. They were perfect, everything about the moment perfect, everything that had brought them to this point. Perfect. He clenched hard around Dave and erupted onto his stomach, his chest. His eyes wide, pupils blown, Dave thrust twice more and lost himself buried inside Hal.  
  
Hal collapsed next to him, a warm presence wrapped around his side. The world slowly re-formed. The sunlight. The trains. The birds, cars, sheets. But it was only brief as everything became muzzy and they both sank into pleasant sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

When Dave woke again, it was to a slight chill on his skin and the soft sound of keys clacking in the next room. Hal was back at it, determined as ever. Over the span of several hours, Dave had gotten outside, worked his arms, washed the truck, picked up the kitchen. The sun had tipped towards the horizon, and Hal was still coding.  
  
After that, there wasn't much more he could do, so he sat down to clean his guns again, being silent and patient on the couch. The overwhelming feeling that he was a burden descended once more, but he shuffled it away to a vacant corner of his mind, instead replaying and reflecting on the stellar frenzy of the last 24 hours. It was a totally new side of Hal he'd seen. He had never thought the engineer could be so assertive, so primal. He couldn't picture life without him, always a pleasant presence in his day to day, providing backup on their missions, a sounding board, companionship, friendship. But he'd never imagined there was this sexual beast lurking within his dour coffee-and-anime exterior. Maybe- maybe it was love? Love did strange things to people. He didn't know, but he'd heard that somewhere along the line. It was at least lust, that was sure. Lust and friendship. He could live with that combination. A greedy smirk crossed his lips at the concept, exploitative ideas already running through his head. Hal tossed him a casual inquisitive look, eyebrow quirked, but Dave never saw it. He turned back and continued coding.  
  
The next day was spent in the same manner, only Dave found another activity besides daydreaming to occupy his time - supplying coffee. The first batch was a watery mess, fearing it would be too strong. The next was so strong Hal's mug nearly corroded. He got the hang of it quickly, making the next pot to Hal's liking, not solider-strength. Regardless, the dissolved caffeine swam through his veins in short measure, and his fingers flew over the keys, interspersed with bouts of lip biting, head scratching, and muttered swearing. As the sun was setting, Dave heard Hal clap his hands together, pushing his chair back from the desk.  
"It's done! Done. Seriously." He emitted a loud triumphant cackle as he rubbed his hands together.  
  
"Really? Want to give it a try?" Hal finally got his laughter under control, ending in a short little nervous chuckle.  
" _Yes_. Here, sit on the couch." Dave made himself comfortable while Hal debugged the program one last time, then turned the computer and RF transmitter to the codec's auxiliary frequency.  
"Shouldn't take long." He switched it on, passing the encryption key to the device in Dave's body, granting him access to instruct the bots. The status bar clicked quickly from 10 to 20 to 40 to 80 percent - done. He closed the connection and moved to sit next to Dave. "Okay. Now we wait."  
  
One machine carried the instructions to another, who carried them to another, to another. The whole process blossomed in exponential fashion, running quicker than the blood which pumped through his veins. Soon, all the bots were informed and they set off on a search and rescue mission: find myelin, build axons. They coursed through his body unseen, hungry for something to do after so much routine maintenance and inactivity. But there was little point in waiting, awake, so shortly both men shuffled off to bed, exhausted from the past few days' mental expenditure and nervous inaction.  
  
Dave woke the next morning with Hal's arm and one leg casually draped over him. He opened his eyes, forgetting to expect anything. Nothingness greeted him, same as any other day. It was only after he'd firmly pushed away the curtain of sleep that he remembered.  
"Ah, fuck." It was mumbled, but enough to rouse Hal.  
"Mmm... Dave? You awake?"  
"Yes." His voice was laden with badly concealed disappointment.  
"Anything? No. Well, I'm not surprised." He yawned, pulling himself out of sleep. "The nanomachines have only had 8 hours or so to work. Let's get you up and get some olelic acids in you."  
  
Hal's plan consisted of toast drizzled with olive oil and peanut butter sandwiches. They sat, ate, sipped coffee, searching for something to do to pass the time. Eventually they headed into town, did some grocery shopping, stopped at the auto parts store. "I'll show you how to change the oil," Dave promised. Soon enough, Hal was on his back under the aging Chevy, arms coated in black motor oil, droplets splashed on his glasses. Dave directed him from above. "Okay, now that you've got the filter off, run your finger around the gasket rim. Any little burrs?" Hal did as instructed.  
"No. Did I mention this sucks?"  
"Yes, about a dozen times," Dave reminded him with a chuckle. "Stop complaining, you're finally becoming a man."  
"My ass." They continued to work on the truck, repairing the dead directional light, changing the air filter.  
"Congratulations. We are now the owners of the best maintained 87 Chevy in a five county radius." Hal returned his easy smile.  
"Let's get cleaned up, I'm famished."  
  
They went to bed with the same expectant thoughts buzzing in their heads. The next morning dawned in much the same fashion.  
"Fuck," Dave breathed.  
"Mmm. Morning."  
"Nothing, Hal. Absolutely nothing."  
"Really? ...What about light sensitivity? He reached up and rolled up the blinds.  
"Nothing. Nothing,  _fucking nothing_." Dave was angry now, suffocating the frightened disappointment.  
"Well, we'll give it a little longer. At least nothing unexpectedly wrong is happening." And that was the truth. Hal had a little pit of worry twisting in his stomach ever since he'd started on the program. What if his efforts to create test scenarios and debug the code weren't enough? What if something went catastrophically wrong? The fact that no effects were showing, yet, was a disappointment and a relief all at the same time. And he kept reminding himself, the human body, even Dave's, worked slowly to heal. Even as the little bugs expended energy, they could only do so much at once.  
  
So they gave it time. Filled the day with busy work, cleaning the house, picking up, sorting, trashing things they didn't need. It was with worried exhaustion that they collapsed in bed that night, nothing more than a few tense kisses exchanged.  
"It'll be alright," Hal whispered into his skin as they fell asleep, bodies wound tightly around each other.  
  
Hal was the first awake the next morning. He took the opportunity to draw his fingers over Dave's form, allowed his thoughts to blank. Worrying solved nothing. He simply enjoyed the moment and waited for Dave to open his eyes.  
"Morning."  
Dave was silent next to him, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His jaw clenched and unclenched.  
"Dave?"  
A lone tear dripped down his cheek, disappearing in the pillow.  
"Oh god, Dave." He gripped the larger man tightly, burying his face between his hair and the damp spot on the pillow. "Oh, god." His throat was tight. "I'm so sorry," he squeaked. "Let me try again, please. I'll fix it,  _fuck_ , I'll-" his voice was choked by tears. Dave gripped him back, hard. Neither man could say anything, what was there to say, anyway? Dave's dark world endured, trapping him in this tedious domesticated world where nothing changed. Everything that he'd earned, heightened senses, the confidence to move through a space without sight, what was it good for in the end? His former world was locked away from him forever. There would be no more missions, no more successes, no more risks. This was the last, final failure. His enemies could work away at their vile ambitions, efforts unchecked. He trembled, for everything, for the world, for his loss. The tears continued to fall.  
  
"If-if only I'd been quicker. I could have stopped it, gotten you out of there. You shouldn't have been there in the first place! God! It's all my fault." Hal sobbed uncontrollably, and Dave did nothing to stop him. In a way, he was satiated with Hal's self-blame, his guilt. In a small section of his mind, he was agreeing. 'Yes - this is your fault. I'm trapped and it's all your fault.' But the thoughts didn't waft into his conscious mind and stayed buried, unspoken.  
  
Hal was kissing his neck now, sloppy lips capturing his tears. "Please," he softly wailed, "please, let me try again." His mouth trailed down to his collarbone, sucking. "Please,  _please_ -" He barely breathed it into his skin, frightened and ashamed of himself. "...Please don't leave me." But Dave heard.  
"I'm not going anywhere." A bitter chuckle. "Where would I go, anyway? I'd break my neck just walking down the fucking porch steps."  
"No, no, no." Hal moved down his chest, licking down, in earnest. "Oh, Dave." His hand wound down to his hip and dug his nails in lightly, unconscious mind bent on keeping him. "You can't go. Not because you can't, but- but..." He worked his tongue around his navel, making his stomach muscles clench. "I need you. God, I couldn't live without you." Despite the hopelessness that smothered them, the vast yawning chasm of nothing that was beckoning to Dave, swallowing up his life, Hal's words and his sure deft hands were turning him on. He lay still while Hal worked down to his groin, taking his half-soft cock in his hands, stroking lightly, bringing it to his lips. He slicked it with his tongue before engulfing him, now fully erect, with his mouth.  
  
This was so wrong, to feel such grief and such blatant, wanton need. But Dave was past caring. He just wanted to feel, to be overwhelmed. Hal was working himself open with his own fingers, the other hand on the base of Dave's penis, sucking furiously. His guilt was burning him up inside and he worked like a man possessed, applying just enough suction to the point of almost tipping into pain. Hal felt fingers winding through his hair, pulling viciously. Not back, not up, just pulling. He tilted his head up to catch Dave's face. His lips were drawn, teeth clenched, eyes shut, brows knit. As if he were dying, bleeding out. He drew his attention back to the task at hand, and soon he was ready, his fingers sliding in and out without much resistance. He licked Dave one last time, leaving copious amounts of saliva glistening on his weeping head.  
  
He moved his hands to the soldier's torso, positioning himself, but Dave flipped him on his back, pinning his wrists to the sheets. He shifted both wrists to one hand guiding himself with the other. No words were said, and he entered him with one swift motion. Hal grunted, biting his lip. He was ready, but, but... He still wasn't quite used to this, his insides ached, filled completely. Dave moved his wrists to both hands again, bearing down with all his weight. Hal clenched his waist with his legs. It was vicious, brutal. Dave set a punishing pace, then doubled it. The bed creaked underneath them and they gasped from the effort.  
"More," Hal breathed and he complied. The tears continued to flow and he cried out, pleasure and penance burning away the guilt. Dave's mind was burning away the feelings of hopelessness, despair. He lost himself, thrusting harder and deeper and spilling his agony into Hal. He followed soon after, erupting hot and sticky all over his chest.  
  
Dave struggled to catch his breath, laying back and collapsing. For a few moments of post-coital bliss his mind was blank, euphoric. Then the black tendrils crept back in.  
"I wish I could see you like this. I have an idea of what you look like, but it's unfinished." He sighed. "I want to see your eyes. I never  _really_  looked before, and now..." Hal was silent, understanding nothing he could say would take it away, make any of this better.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The next week was a monotony of activity and a roller coaster of emotion. Dave had nothing to do, all the mindless tasks were finished save those never-ending chores: dishes, clothes, cleaning. Hal sat fixedly in front of the computer, typing intermittently, hope not quite killed. But there was little he could find little fault with his code. He made it more efficient, certainly, fixed one long-shot potential bug, and spent the remainder of the time in impotent silence. He migrated from bouts of uncharacteristic swearing, to tepid silence, to quiet crying. At one point he even threw his Gurren Lagann coffee cup against the wall, watching it shatter with furious satisfaction. After a few days, he resorted to drinking instead, curling up on the couch, staring at nothing. He quickly bypassed the shot glass and sipped straight from the bottle of vodka instead. Dave managed to take it away from him at first, only letting him alone with it for a handful of minutes, just so he couldn't get right and properly soused. At least harping on Hal kept him from dwelling on his own hopeless state.  
  
But his watchdog phase was only effective for so long and clever Hal found ways of stashing the vodka in other fashions - behind the sofa, in his coffee cup, under the bed. Several days ended very early, with Hal passed out on the couch, limbs arranged in the haphazard state only true drunkenness can achieve. Dave left him there and they started to sleep separately again. When at last, the vodka was gone, Hal stole the truck keys and escaped into town, abandoning himself in a bottle of cheap tequila. He spent that following morning recovering in the cab of their truck on a deserted road along the train tracks. His head throbbed. What was he doing? Honestly? He'd left Dave alone like the coward he was. He wasn't strong enough to deal with this head on, couldn't face up to his failings and support him as he'd been. He'd have to do something. Get them out of this town? To  _where_ , really? Another city, another house, just so Dave would have to map it all again?  
  
That wasn't the answer, but they needed a fresh start of some sort. He needed to make amends. Hal sighed heavily, summed up his courage, and put the key in the ignition. He would have to be brave, even with a raging hangover. He gathered peace offerings in town and presented them haltingly to Dave when he walked in the door.  
"I've been an asshole, I'm sorry." Dave sat on the couch, a bitter 'damn right' plastered on his face. "Cigarettes? I got you a carton of your favorite." The edges of his pursed lips quirked in amusement, even if his eyes still shone with betrayal and anger.  
"You're not going to drink today."  
"No, I'm not." He set them down on the coffee table. "I got you something else, too." He placed the lopsided object in Dave's hands, watching as his fingers traced the planes and curves, quickly mapping it and throwing a confused look in Hal's direction. "It's a guitar," he added needlessly. "I figured... well, I've never been musically inclined, but I didn't know if maybe you'd be interested. I bought it off a guy at the gas station." Dave's mouth twitched in the beginnings of a genuine smile, his eyes softening.  
"You sappy bastard. Thanks."  
  
It was still awkward after that, the two men finding their own spaces in the house, but as Hal was frying up dinner later that night, Dave approached him from behind, wrapping his arms around him and placing a small kiss on the shell of his ear. "Thank you." For snapping out of it, for coming back, for not driving me to hate you.  
  
That night they shared the same bed again, wrapped tentatively in each other's arms.  
  
The morning was the same as always. Dave savored the moment, Hal's warm body pressed against his, the smooth sheets covering them. The peace outside, birds calling each other, cars in the distance. If he had to endure a life without sight, without action, at least he'd stay in Hal's arms. This accident had brought them together, and he was grateful for that. Why couldn't it have happened otherwise? He sighed and rolled over, away from the painfully bright sun, burying his face in Hal's hair. It took ten seconds for his mind to clear.  
  
Was that right? Something didn't add up. He opened his eyes out of habit and found himself looking at Hal's brown hair, only two inches from his face. Everything was fuzzy and blurry, but... it was there. Oh god, it was there! A thrill ran through his body and he gripped Hal's torso tightly. Hal. He couldn't breathe, the air came in short gasps through his nose. An unfamiliar room coalesced around him, the light reflected off the white walls stabbed at his raw nerves but he forced his eyes open, refusing to squint. Dave propped himself up and peered over Hal's shoulder. He was sleeping soundly, his eyes shut, lines of worry smoothed on his forehead. Beautiful. A sob caught in his throat. His Hal. His forearms quivered, threatening to give out, overwhelmed by emotion. His heart was racing.  
  
He was overcome by a desire to see those eyes open, so he leaned down and kissed him awake, softly at first, then licking with his tongue, begging Hal to open his mouth. He kept his eyes open, frightened to shut them away. Hal returned the kiss, tongue stroking over Dave's moaning slightly as he regained consciousness.  
"You're feeling better this morning."  
"Oh, you have no idea." His voice caught, trembling. Hal opened his eyes quizzically only to find Dave's own bearing down on him, flickering in small movements, focusing and capturing every detail. Green eyes. That's right. He'd forgotten. Hal's gorgeous, piercing green eyes.  
  
It didn't take long for realization to dawn on Hal, watching his focused pupils. They had always been wide, wandering, fixed on a point somewhere with no meaning. This was different, totally different. They latched onto Hal's and refused to let go. His mouth fell open.  
"No. No?" He refused to believe. He would not let his own stupidity toy with him. But a sliver of hope stuck in his side and burrowed deep. "Dave?" it came out as a squeak, barely audible.  
"Yes?" A smile trembled over his lips. Seeing the untempered joy on Dave's face was answer enough. His eyes filled with tears and Dave's lips split into a grin that engulfed his whole face. "Yeah.  _Yeah_." It was all he could manage before Hal coughed out a little laugh and pulled him down into a kiss. A searing kiss between hungry mouths where tongues danced, teeth clashed. He felt like his soul was being devoured. And through it all, their eyes remained connected, daring to hope, to believe. This was heaven magnified - the feel of Hal underneath him, warm, trembling. His mouth, so hot and desperate. And his eyes, glowing green that impaled the core of his being.  
  
Dave tore the sheets off the bed and attacked Hal's lounge pants next. His cock was already at attention, throbbing and eager. Dave held his thighs down with his hands, keeping their gazes locked. He licked a line all along the underside of his penis and watched the ecstasy carve itself onto the scientist's face. Oh god, what he'd been missing! The sight of him, quivering, overwhelmed, went straight to his own cock and he ground against Hal's leg as he took him into his mouth. Admittedly, he'd never done this with a man before, but instinct and pure emotion were an easy substitute for knowledge. Hal keened out his pleasure and before long was pulling on Dave's hair, begging him to stop.  
  
"I-I can't take it. Just, just hold on." Dave drew back, kissing along his stomach instead, keeping him pierced with his eyes. "God, Dave. I..." He couldn't finish, could barely breathe. "Please, I want you to fuck me. Please." His mouth curled into a hungry feral grin, moving his hand to stroke through Hal's hair, down across his cheek, over his mouth. Hal opened his lips and sucked the offered fingers inside, bathing them with his tongue, fucking his fingers just as sure as he was fucking him with his eyes. Those green, green eyes, brimming with desire, relief, lust, hope. Love. God, it must be. It was so heavy in his gaze and Dave found it hard to breathe. He pulled his hand back, added a bit of lotion from the nightstand, and pressed them inside Hal. Even now, his eyes stayed open. He sucked in two great lungfuls of air, moaning wantonly at the end of each, nearly hyper-ventilating. His lids drooped, but stayed open, fixed on the man who was spreading him wide open, stretching him, filling him with promises to be kept in short order. He nearly came from the sight and wrapped his hand around the base of his own erection, squeezing lightly, belaying his orgasm.  
  
There were so many things Dave wanted to say, but nothing seemed sufficient. Instead, he crawled up Hal's body, kissing him forcefully, making both of them nearly gag on the other's tongue. He needed - so much. He needed to drown on feeling. He caressed Hal's thighs, spreading them, entering him achingly slow, drawing it out. Those green eyes clouded, overwhelmed, his mouth hung open, breathing in shallow little pants. Dave set a slow, deep rhythm, determined to touch every nerve ending, set them both on fire. He changed his angle and watched Hal concede defeat, his eyes rolling back in his head. Something clenched painfully in Dave's chest at that, seeing bare bliss painted over Hal's face. God, how he'd dreamed of this, wanted it, but never let the need overwhelm him. He kept it under control all these weeks because he knew he'd never see it. And now here it was, in front of him, the sight of Hal lost in the throes of passion. It was etching itself into his soul, and he abandoned himself in frantic energy, emptying himself into Hal's warm body.  
  
Hal was quick to recover, propping himself on his elbows and staring at Dave as if he were the single most precious thing on earth. It wasn't really a stretch.  
"I don't believe it." Dave caught his breath.  
"Neither do I." He crawled up the bed, wrapping him in his arms. "You did it. You know that, right?"  
"I-I don't believe it. It could be by accident, it could just be your body's own resiliency-"  
"No.  _You_  did it. Thank you." He crushed their mouths together, absolving both men for all the trials, the fights, the hardships endured since N38.  
"Dave. I know you know this, but it has to be said." He clutched his chin. "I love you. I always have. At first it was just admiration, but... but. It wasn't a long leap and I've been head over heels for you for years. I just - I just need you to know that. I would  _never_  hurt you on purpose, or put you in a situation where-" Dave silenced him with his lips.  
"Stop. I know. I trust you. I think that's pretty apparent." He cracked a smile. "I... I know  _you_  know this, but..." he swallowed despite himself. The words were easy after all. They had been dancing in his head for a while now. "I love you."  
  
  
***  
  
  
The sky was ebony dark, just the small piercing stars above. The moon was gone, the clouds had fled. Even the headlights on the Chevy were dead. Hal edged the truck to the side of the road, giving a meaningful glance to Dave.  
"Be careful, for fuck's sake." A tight feral smile split his lips.  
"Always."  
"I'll be waiting right here." Dave reached across the seat, and crushed their mouths together, desperate.  
"I know." And with that, he opened the door and disappeared into the blackness.  
  
He didn't bother with stealth this time. They were only a quarter mile from the silo, and he sprinted the distance to the concrete monolith, bathed in black. There wasn't a single light. The blast doors on the entry hatch were loosely latched with a chain. Dave had brought plenty of supplies for this mission. He flipped open a miniature cutting torch and made short work of the metal links. He leaned against the door and pushed, cringing as it slid open with a loud, sickening sound of rusted metal. The hallway was dark inside, until he took one step and the whole complex was bathed in light. He squinted through it, dodging to the side to escape a hail of gunfire that never came.  
  
Slowly, he peeked around the edge of the door. It was silent and ghostly inside.  
"Snake? What happened?" Hal's concerned voice traveled over the codec.  
"Think I tripped some automatic security system. No one's here. Yet," he added.  
With a swiftness he'd worried had abandoned him, Dave slipped inside the doors, slithering to the first room, kicking open the door, training his M4 assault rifle steadily at each corner. Empty.  
  
He checked each room in the same fashion, but they were all the same. Empty, with a very fine dust covering everything. He was at the end of the corridor now, and navigated down the stairs, keeping his eyes trained on the bottom, watching for movement as he flew along the metal treads. He was at the last step swiftly and noticed the three hatch doors were open, unlatched. The blood stains he'd remembered splattered on the metal were absent. His senses sharpened, ducking around the first two. He squared himself, stood back, and kicked the last door wide open. As it ground open, he darted back behind safe cover. Someone had cleaned that blood. He was not going to be lured into complacency despite the easy access.  
  
Slowly, he edged the barrel of his gun into the door frame, peering around. The room was empty. Or rather, the areas he could see were empty. The mutilated bodies were gone. The machine and the generator were still there. Shiny and clean. He moved into the room cautiously, edging around the hulking contraption, waiting for something to pop out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"You're a sight for sore eyes." Dave pivoted on his heel, gun trained at 6 o'clock. Nothing. The disembodied voice continued. "I didn't think you were stupid enough to come back. Did you bring that inept little friend of yours? I think he'd make an excellent test subject." He bristled.  
"I'm your problem now, Bennet. Focus on that, and how you're going to spend the last few minutes of your life." Dry laughter echoed around the room.  
"I think you'll find we have you trapped, so your threats are hollow." Dave continued to edge around the machine. A round went off, clipping the metal close by his head and he pulled back, flattening himself against the evil device. He edged around the other side and was presented with the same greeting, round embedding itself in the concrete wall at his back.  
  
Trapped, eh? That's just what he wanted. There were at least two of them in the room, judging by the slight difference in the cadence of the muzzle blasts. And three, plus Bennet. He wouldn't be here, not for all his elaborate setup. Besides, under all that bravado, he was just scared. Insane and scared. A great combination. Dave pulled a grenade from the bandolier on his back, sliding it into the M203A1 launcher at the end of his carbine.  
  
"You'd better have an army if you want to fuck with me." He aimed in a high arc over the machine and clicked the trigger. The violent concussion rocked the room, the explosion sending bits of concrete like shrapnel bouncing against the walls. Over the ringing echo in his ears, he heard the unabashed moans of a man in blinding pain. He twisted around one end of the machine and clicked off a dozen rounds, splitting his skull open and ending his misery. His companion, obviously unharmed, filled the air with gunfire, refusing to relent even as Dave bounded back behind the safe steel. He could feel the tremors as the metal shook with each bullet. The barrage stopped and Dave could hear, faintly - thank you enhanced hearing - as the man dry-fired once. Realizing his mistake, he paused to reload. It would only take him two seconds, a few well trained motions to re-arm himself. Dave sprang into action, twisting around the side of the device, locking onto the man whose eyes shone wide with fear. He knew what was coming.  
  
Four rounds burst from the end of the M4 and erupted in the man's chest, painting the concrete behind him with chunky red paint. Just four. That's all that was needed.  
  
The air had been filled with the soft electronic static of an open comm line, but it abruptly cut and a silent void followed in its wake. Bennet was on the move. Where? His thoughts raced ahead to Hal, waiting on the highway just outside the complex. No - must not panic. Must not move without thinking. He shut down his emotions as best he could, as he was trained to. He spared a thought for the machine, propelling another grenade into it, rendering all the cruel mechanisms useless. Job done, Dave slipped back out of the room, pointing the gun overhead, expecting men. Nothing.  
"Otacon?"  
"What's going on? I heard-"  
"Drive away. I have one missing. Just one. I'll find him but-"  
"No, I'm not going anywhere!"  
"Otacon, for the love of god, don't argue with me. Drive  _away_." The commanding tone in his voice brooked no argument.  
"Al-alright. Stay in touch."  
"You got it."  
  
He started up the stairs, goosebumps pimpling his flesh. It felt just like last time. But it wouldn't be the same, it couldn't. He reached the top and slid the end of the rifle around the door frame. Immediately, bullets filled the threshold.  
"Nice try. You're still fucking trapped, genius." Dave considered saying the same thing, but instead calmly reached for his last grenade. He jabbed the launcher beyond the rim of the door and fired blindly. The explosion shook the walls and eroded his hearing down to deafening white noise. But the bullets stopped and after a half minute he had regained enough awareness to hear soft liquid gurgling, oxygen being forced through seeping blood.  
  
Dave loosed three rounds from his gun anyway, just for good measure. When nothing was returned, he cautiously poked his head around the door. There on the floor, as expected, was a bleeding, dying Bennet and the last of his henchmen, dead. Dave kept his gun trained as he approached. His eyes were unfocused, soft, in order to catch any potential movement from the doors lining the wrecked hallway. He kicked the gun away from Bennet's outstretched hand.  
"How many times do I have to kill you?!" A sharp cough answered him, blood pouring from the maniac's mouth and lacerated chest. "I should make you suffer, turn your machine on you." Fear blossomed in his clouded eyes. "I wonder how long it will take your brains to boil? How long did it take for them?!" But the man was quickly fading and his threats were largely lost on him. "You fucking pig. All the pain you put me through." All the pain you put  _us_  through. But he didn't say it. The trained solider knew better than to elude to any potential connections, in case a phantom was waiting in the shadows and the knowledge used against him, later.  
He was disgusted with the whole tableau and pointed the barrel at Bennet's mouth. One round. That's all it was worth. His skull fragmented and his decapitated body bounced bonelessly against the floor.  
  
"Otacon?"  
"Yes! Yes, what's going on?"  
"I need a ride."  
"30 seconds." The sound of a revving engine spilled over the codec for a fraction of a moment before the connection was closed. Dave continued down the corridor, checking each room for good measure. Then he was out, on the ramp, running and pulling open the door of the truck.  
"Let's get the hell out of here." It didn't need to be said, and Hal's foot was already on the gas, rear wheels grabbing the pavement, launching them away from the hell hole. They were a team. And they were  _back_.  
  
Dave relaxed in the passenger seat, muscles still twitching from adrenaline, excitement. His chin pointed, eyes confident, he cycled the slide on his rifle, clearing the chamber. The satisfying sound of oiled gunmetal filled the cab. The soldier had returned. "Next time, I'm going to have to pickup more grenades," he muttered, clicking on the safety. Hal smirked without tearing his eyes from the road. As they drove, Dave watched the beautiful pinpoints of light filling the night sky.   
  


  
**FIN**


End file.
